Climbing the Web
by Icy Mike Molson
Summary: House Evnissien is looking to advance its power and influence in the city of Llyr, but sixteen other houses stand in their way...
1. Foreword

Wizards of the Coast owns the general concept of Dungeons and Dragons, from which this story was devised. However, _The New World_ and its subterranean kingdoms, most notably Wulfstadt and Llyr, are mine. Likewise, the characters, while ostensibly created through the use of the Dungeons and Dragons character generation rules, are also mine. While I am not completely averse to someone requesting to use _The New World_ as a backdrop for a campaign or story, ask my permission first. Chances are you'll have my blessing; after all, I'd be interested to see what someone can do with the political and social backdrop I've created. I won't tell you anything about _The New World_; that's for you to find out through the stories.

_Climbing the Web_ is the fifth story to take place in The New World campaign setting. It is a prequel of sorts to _Fire and Darkness_, but works just fine as a stand alone story. While it is not one of the hundred DM ideas presented in the _Dungeon Master's Guide_, it has been gnawing at my creativity for a year or more now, finally making it next to impossible to focus on my other work, _Depths of Hatred_. So, in order to get this one out of the way, I've decided to write and post it now. Besides, for some reason everyone likes the people I'll be focusing on in this story…


	2. A Meeting on the Roof

**I**

The city of Llyr was a wonder to behold from above. Bathed in the eternal gloom of the darkest caverns, the city saw light only from the magical flames of faerie fire that lined the statues and gargoyles that guarded the beautifully sculpted manses of Llyr's greatest families. Each mansion was carved from the largest stalactites in the cavern or molded from the cavern floor into delicate towers and intricate villas. Surrounding those marvelous homes were fences of ornately wrought, blackened steel and groves of enormous mushrooms, protecting the houses from the rabble that made their homes between the stately compounds and the possibility of attack from another noble house. In the center of the chamber that housed the city, the three schools of Llyr nearly glowed with their infernal power, centered on the Amser-Colofn, the glowing stalagmite that told the passage of time with the rise and ebb of its mystical fire.

Hetwn Evnissien, the current patron of House Evnissien, took the view in for a long moment, allowing himself to bask in the dark majesty of Llyr before he continued on his way. Strapped securely into the saddle of his lizard mount, the wizard enjoyed looking down over the city, permitting an illusion of power over the populace that he did not have. House Evnissien was only the seventeenth of thirty noble houses in Llyr, and his position as patron of the house was tenuous at best. The true power of Llyr lay with the females, the priestesses of the Spider Queen, Lolth, and lowly males could, and would be, replaced by the whims of the chaotic women who held the reins of power. Hetwn needed fear not only the females of his own house, only one of whom was his daughter, but also the machinations of the other houses. House Evnissien sat on dangerous ground; houses below them looked to increase their standing through the elimination of one above them that was not so powerful, while the houses above looked at Evnissien's growing power with concern that they would soon become targets for the ambitious Matron Saffir Evnissien. In so difficult a position, House Evnissien needed one of two things. Either they would need allies, or they would need somewhere else for the wary eyes of Llyr to look for power or a perceived threat.

It was the latter of the two goals which currently concerned Hetwn. Reining in his musings, the wizard spurred his mount onward, making his way through the stalactites that littered the cavern ceiling without a sound. Hetwn's _piwafwi_, the faintly enchanted cloak that identified him as a member of House Evnissien, was wrapped tightly about him, keeping it from falling and obscuring his view of anything around him, while his hair, somewhat unkempt by the standards of the drow in a flowing white mane, was controlled by the cowl of his cloak. Hetwn's crimson eyes remained alert and on the road, such as it was, around him, knowing that he may not be the only drow on the cavern ceiling.

Ahead of him, Hetwn could finally see his destination. The Roof of Llyr was nothing more than a common tavern, housed in a squat, thick stalactite almost directly above the vaunted Ysgol-Cyfranc, the school where so many dark elf nobles learned the arts of combat and assassination. Guiding the lizard halfway down the stalactite to the only opening in the stone, Hetwn undid the straps that secured him to his mount and swung easily into the tavern, landing just inside the entrance with one hand near the wand tucked into his belt. Although he was here to meet allies and not enemies, it was better to remain cautious.

The inside of the Roof of Llyr was barely large enough to accommodate five tables, but it did offer some privacy. Thin walls of stone at least partially separated each table, while the furniture and the bar were carved from the stalactite itself. The ceiling was low, only a foot above the diminutive Hetwn's head, giving the place a slightly claustrophobic feel. Still, while Hetwn did not enjoy the confined space of the Roof of Llyr, he maintained a steely calm as he turned to one table on his left.

"I see the Matron has let you slip from her grasp," a smirking young drow said, his silvery white hair wild and long on top but shaved from the sides of his head. The elf stood from his seat, blowing slightly as his gleaming blood colored eyes searched momentarily behind the wizard for any other newcomers. "And without an escort, as well. I am impressed."

"Perhaps you confuse me with someone else, Heilyn," Hetwn said, smiling faintly at the taller, far more muscular drow in front of him. Hetwn was small even by his own kind's standards, but Heilyn was a truly powerful drow physically. While he did not possess the grotesque, musclebound features that a duergar warrior would develop, his lean, taut frame held the defined features of a drow swordsman. The secondboy of House Brenin Llywd, the fourteenth house of Llyr, sat back down at his table, and gestured for Hetwn to join him. The wizard complied easily, although he silently wished this meeting could have taken place somewhere else. The Roof of Llyr's stone benches were uncomfortable at best.

"So, what brings you to this dreadful, duergar inspired excuse of a drinking house?" Heilyn inquired, taking a sip of wine from the long, narrow glass in front of him. "Oh, how rude of me. Would you care for a drink, Patron?"

"Not at the moment," Hetwn declined, growing serious.

"Suit yourself," Heilyn said with a shrug. Hetwn hesitated for a moment with a glance around the bar, then turned back to the warrior.

"We share a common problem," the wizard said, lowering his voice slightly.

"You don't like these benches either," Heilyn assumed, a smirk coming to his face. Hetwn's face darkened with anger.

"I was told I would be meeting a noble of House Brenin Llywd," the wizard stated, placing his hands on the table as he stood to leave. "Not some minstrel trying to win enough copper for his next meal in the Central Market."

"Easy, Hetwn, easy," Heilyn said. "I am indeed the secondboy of Brenin Llywd. I would simply have you, my diminutive friend, relax. I am certain we have important business to discuss. Now, what is this you say of a common problem?"

Hetwn glanced around the bar once more before he spoke.

"House Hen Wyneb," the wizard stated. Heilyn nodded thoughtfully.

"The Fifteenth House of Llyr," the warrior said. "An ambitious house. Their power is on the rise, and Matron Ceridwen is a dangerous foe."

"Dangerous, but not all powerful," Hetwn stated. "There are… other houses that look upon Hen Wyneb with disfavor. Other houses that may look to check Matron Ceridwen's power."

"Yes, so we have heard," Heilyn affirmed with a slight nod. "Certainly, my own house would not see this as a loss. After all, I'm certain Matron Ceridwen does desire to grow in power, and a move to become the fourteenth house would certainly be in her plans."

"We of House Evnissien would be willing to help put Matron Eirian's mind at ease," Hetwn said. "After all, was it not House Brenin Llywd that aided House Evnissien against the deep gnomes of Vyskov?"

"Ah, what a grand battle," Heilyn said wistfully. "Naomhin and I were unstoppable together. It fills me with bliss just thinking of it."

"Indeed," Hetwn said with a smile that belied his knowledge of the events. Heilyn and Naomhin, the elderboy of House Evnissien, had in fact killed many gnomes together, but the battle had ended with each noble son turning on the other, hoping to gain an edge in the neverending war of succession in Llyr. "And in that same spirit, we can aid each other again, to defend from Matron Ceridwen's machinations."

"I see," Heilyn said, swirling the wine in his glass. He took one last gulp, then set the flute gently on the stone table. "I shall relay your house's warm regards to my matron. Perhaps this is a good time to have friends."

"I await your response," Hetwn said. The wizard stood with a faint smile, and quickly exited the Roof of Llyr.


	3. Plans for War

**II**

House Evnissien itself occupied the northernmost point of Llyr, partly recessed into the cavern walls and rimmed by an intricately beautiful wrought iron fence patterned after a perfect spider's web between each heavy stone support. Inside the fence, four gracefully curving stone towers formed a diamond around the house's central garden, where tall groves of thin, delicate mushrooms rose above beds of faintly glowing mosses and lichens. At the very heart of the mushroom grove, a tiny spring had been transformed into a beautiful grotto of carefully sculpted stone, with faerie fire dancing along the edges of the carved stone spiders that crouched to either side of the central fountain. Beyond the four towers, where the chapels and barracks of the commoners could be found and the homes of the nobles dominated the upper levels, the slave pens of the house were concealed tastefully behind the cavern wall, while the heavily guarded treasury of the house lay concealed beneath the far tower.

Hetwn took it all in with a cursory glance, simply checking that each guard was at his post and that no scheming drow lay in wait even within the walls of his own home. Without a word of command from the current patron, the gates of the house opened, allowing the wizard into the courtyard on his way to the tallest, central tower of the compound. A handful of Evnissien soldiers quickly moved out of the way of the house's patron or saluted quickly, but Hetwn paid them no heed as he made his way to the tower.

No stairs or rope elevators gave access to the tower's lowest door some ten feet above ground, but Hetwn's innate powers of levitation, the mark of a drow noble, allowed the diminutive wizard to float up to the entrance rather than ascending through a different tower and crossing the narrow walkways to his destination. Just inside the gently curving passage, intricately carved with scenes of House Evnissien's early ascension or more historical depictions of Llyr's history, two grotesque creatures shambled out of well concealed holes in the ceiling. The abominations resembled an unholy cross between elf and spider, with clacking mandibles and large, disgusting compound eyes that gazed hungrily on the wizard as their two clawed hands and feet clung to the rough stone of the passage ceiling. Neither of the ettercaps, pets and guardians in almost every noble house of Llyr, would dare to attack Hetwn while he still maintained the matron mother's favor. Hetwn suppressed a shudder of revulsion as he passed the two most obvious guardians of the central tower, and ascended a short, spiral staircase of wrought iron to the chapel of House Evnissien.

Truly the most ornate and elaborate part of House Evnissien, the Evnissien Chapel was a wonder to behold. Ringing the chamber on pedestals of marble carved into thick webs, gargoyles glared silently down on the central altar, constructed of solid obsidian and carved into the perfect likeness of a huge spider. Opposite the arched, black steel doors that led to the chapel was a large throne, constructed of black marble and gold and bearing the same arachnid motif as the rest of the room. During full services the circular chapel would accommodate all of House Evnissien's nobles and the more than three hundred commoners that owed fealty to the house, but at the moment only one other person occupied the room. Sitting calmly on that throne, Matron Saffir Evnissien, ruler of Llyr's seventeenth house, leaned forward slightly as the patron entered the room.

"My dear patron," Saffir said, her smooth, lilting voice drifting quietly across the chapel to Hetwn. The wizard dropped to one knee at the sight of the delicate drow female perched on the altar, her nearly perfect silver hair seeming to glow in the purple and green lights of the faerie fire that softly illuminated the eyes of the spider gargoyles above and the smaller spiders carved into the marble webs. Once again Hetwn was struck by the beauty of the matron mother before him. Saffir had given birth to two sons and two daughters, had ruled House Evnissien for nearly a century, and yet not a single line of age marred her face or dulled the fierce passion evident in her scarlet eyes. Saffir was meant for greatness, Hetwn could see, and he was more than happy to be chosen from his lowly place as secondboy of a doomed house to become Matron Saffir's consort. "I missed you during your travels throughout the city."

"And I you," Hetwn said, finally standing and starting across the smooth stone floor of the chapel. He noticed out of the corner of his eye Talaith, Saffir's eldest daughter, a powerful, ambitious, and beautiful priestess in her own right, standing behind the marble webs at the concealed door to one of the priestesses' antechambers, but kept his gaze on Saffir as he approached. "My journeys were not without good fortune, however. Matron Eirian Brenin Llywd sends her warmest regards."

"Does she," Saffir said, considering the information for a moment. Hetwn nodded as he came to a stop just in front of the altar.

"I think she feels that House Hen Wyneb is indeed a threat to her power, and would be very appreciative of an… intervention," the wizard explained. "Her secondboy, Heilyn, expressed as much to me in a chance encounter."

"Indeed," Saffir said. The matron mother slowly rose from her seat, allowing Hetwn a wondrous view of her well sculpted body through the translucent gossamer robes she wore. Saffir stepped off the raised dais of her throne and rounded the altar, stopping only when she draped her arms over Hetwn's shoulders and gazed down into the diminutive wizard's eyes. "How fortunate that you stumbled across Heilyn Brenin Llywd today. Did he mention if his matron would lend assistance to such an intervention against Hen Wyneb?"

"Not yet," Hetwn said. Matron Saffir's warm smile faded. "But I will meet with him again, to discuss the matter further," the wizard added quickly. "It is, of course, not something that they would wish to enter rashly into."

"Time is of the essence," Saffir said, turning and moving away from Hetwn in a cloud of gossamer fabric. "I trust your meeting was discrete, but matron Ceridwen must be aware of the fact that eyes are watching her even now. Our spies have already noticed her second daughter, Daere, recruiting soldiers from the Central Market."

"Perhaps she is simply contemplating a move on House Brenin Llywd," Hetwn suggested. "We can use her acquisition of additional commoners as proof that she will strike against them soon."

"But the scales could be tipped if she is allowed to gather too many," Matron Saffir countered, turning back on Hetwn. The wizard lowered his head for a moment, realizing the truth of the statement, but then raised his eyes again.

"Perhaps we could tip the scales in our favor," Hetwn said, "even as we convince Matron Eirian to lend us aid of her own before they can be attacked."

Matron Saffir considered Hetwn for a moment.

"We cannot afford to push many into their ranks, or they will surely notice," the matron said. "Do you know of one agent we could use to wreak havoc in Hen Wyneb when the time comes to strike?"

"I think I know just the agent," Hetwn replied with a smile.

* * *

Sitting in the shadow of the raised dais that held the schools of Llyr and the towering Amser-Colofn, the markets of Llyr sprawled throughout the central districts of the drow city. No noble house was built within its limits, but almost half of the common populace of Llyr called the winding alleys and four story stone and mushroom buildings of the Central Market home. The markets themselves were open air affairs; merchants marked their territories with everything from conjured walls of simple stone to painstakingly crafted fences of blackened steel or bright tapestries that glowed with elements of pure faerie fire mystically imbued into the fabrics. Drow for the most part moved through the market squares, but the duergar, the gray dwarves of the deepest tunnels, also hawked their wares, mostly weapons but also rare fish taken from the deepest underground lakes, to the dark elves. Kobolds, goblins, and orcs, prisoners and slaves of the drow, were sold off to the visiting nobles or to ambitious commoners seeking status symbols, while the craftsmen of the dark elves, masters in their own right, hawked the finest in both garments and armor, jewelry and weapons. Anything a drow could dream of could be found in the markets of Llyr, as long as that drow knew the proper questions to ask of the merchants and commoners filling the shops and alleys.

Arwydd Evnissien, the second daughter of House Evnissien, knew the Central Market well. As it was often deemed beneath the eldest daughter, or too dangerous, to venture into the markets, it fell to Arwydd, marked with the same diminutive, almost frail features of her father, to make the daily journeys to the central markets to procure items and information alike for her house.

Unlike many second daughters, Arwydd enjoyed her trips to the Central Market of the city. It was here, away from the ornate and lethal defenses of the noble houses circling the core of Llyr, that conspiracies and vendettas were born, alliances shifted, and assassins prowled. Many priestesses of Lolth would have burned with anger at the seemingly sundry acquisitions of provisions and armaments, yearning instead for a position in the Spider Queen's great academy of Arlais-Corryn, but Arwydd had learned to read each house's purchases for what they were. A sudden desire for weapons could herald an attack on another house, while a house preparing for war would often stock its pantries with food to withstand the covert sieges waged in Llyr's noble districts. A careful eye could notice assassins searching for their favorite poisons, tipping off the priestess to the upcoming murder, while an even more attentive person could find the agent of the house that sought the assassin disappearing into the weave of buyers and sellers.

It was this attention to detail that also allowed Arwydd to hide her own machinations in the Central Market. All thirty of Llyr's noble houses kept spies in the markets, alert for exactly the same covert meetings and purchases that Arwydd could detect. It was here that the priestess thanked Lolth for her inheritance of Hetwn's small stature and ability to disappear into the crowds. While she would normally enter the markets dressed in the robes that displayed her position in Lolth's priesthood or in the ornate, silvery black chain mail that protected her during battle, today she had left behind even the _piwafwi_ that would mark her as a member of House Evnissien. Arwydd felt vaguely uneasy without the snake headed whip that would mark her as a priestess, but today it was too obtrusive. Wearing a faintly dirty, once stylish dress of worn silk and a simple black cloak marked with pinpoints of midnight blue, the noble carried only a pair of darts hidden in a back sheath, carefully covered to keep the poison smeared on the tips from injuring the priestess, and a well made but unobtrusive short sword belted on her hip. Arwydd had completed her disguise with a nominal covering of cosmetics that made the already young drow seem to have barely reached maturity, allowing the noble to appear as nothing more than a commoner or petty market thief as she made her way through the alleys she knew so well.

Arwydd had already wound her way through the markets once, and now, as she passed by a small, open air tavern, the noble stopped and considered the current clientele. Unlike many days, when her study of the market would be geared to uncovering information or simple interest, today the second daughter of House Evnissien had a specific target in mind. That target was currently sitting in the middle of the tavern's dozen mushroom crafted tables, drinking wine from a long, narrow flute as his watchful crimson eyes scanned the market beyond the low stone wall that marked the tavern's boundaries. As Arwydd hesitated for the briefest moment, those crimson eyes seemed to seek her out, and a faint smirk played across the slim, wiry drow's handsome face. Arwydd smiled slightly as well as she saw the gesture, and slowly slid across the wall and made her way past a pair of commoners to her quarry's table.

"Elderboy of House Gwalchgwynn," Arwydd said as she sat opposite the drow at the table. "I am honored to meet you."

"And I you, daughter of House Evnissien," Pryderi Gwalchgwynn said quietly. Like Arwydd, Pryderi had removed all traces of his house affiliation, and even to Arwydd it seemed as though she was merely meeting with a commoner who might have some small talent with wizardry based on his simple, unadorned robes and the staff propped against his table. Pryderi's flat white hair, remarkable only for the absence of the silvery tint that typically denoted nobles of the drow city, only enhanced his commoner appearance. "May I offer you some wine?"

"Thank you, but no," Arwydd said, raising a hand at the offer. "I am afraid this is no time for wine to cloud my judgment."

"Ah, so it is true," Pryderi said with a bit of a grin. "House Evnissien does look upward."

"This is how rumors begin," Arwydd stated with a touch of amusement. "House Evnissien simply seeks to secure its own place in the hierarchy, without fear of the houses above it."

"And I suppose one house in particular has shown itself as a threat to Matron Saffir," Pryderi assumed. Arwydd nodded, but said nothing for a moment. "Matron Morfyl will commit to nothing unless she knows her enemy," the wizard said, lowering his voice even more as he spoke.

"Matron Morfyl will make no enemies," Arwydd said. Pryderi chuckled slightly.

"And suppose after the fires of an unsuccessful raid have died, the matron of a higher house discovers slaves or fighters of House Gwalchgwynn among the captured remnants of House Evnissien," Pryderi said.

"We would not fail, should we have the aid of House Gwalchgwynn," Arwydd said, sidestepping a direct answer.

"Few are the houses that would attempt an assault with the thought that they could not win," Pryderi countered. Arwydd paused again, admitting to herself that she would not get unconditional support from the elderboy of the twentieth house of Llyr.

"Hen Wyneb," the priestess finally whispered, almost too quietly to be heard.

"I'm sorry?" Pryderi prompted. Arwydd sighed.

"Hen Wyneb," she repeated, trying to keep her voice low. Pryderi gave a low whistle.

"You know how to pick an enemy," the wizard said. "Fifteenth house. They are said to hold great favor with the Spider Queen, and with House Caer Llion."

"House Caer Llion will have nothing to do with this battle, should it come to that," Arwydd stated quickly. Matron Saffir had known about House Hen Wyneb's supposed alliance with the second house of Llyr for some time, and had gone to great lengths to determine the possibility of House Caer Llion coming to Hen Wyneb's aid in a time of crisis. Matron Saffir's original assumption, that Caer Llion would do little, if anything, to aid the fourteenth house had proven correct after a lengthy and costly investigation into the matter that had involved House Brenin Llywd and the murder of a highly prized commoner priestess in the ranks of House Hen Wyneb. While House Evnissien's spy had proven masterful in assuming the guise of an assassin sent by House Brenin Llywd, Arwydd was still concerned that the fourteenth house might learn of Evnissien's deception. At any rate, the ensuing weeks of maneuvering between the two houses had shown Caer Llion's reluctance to commit any resources to the aid of Hen Wyneb, showing the second house's lack of concern for their ally's standing.

"And how would you know the extent of their alliance?" Pryderi inquired, practically reading the priestess' mind.

"Because few are the houses that would attempt an assault with the thought that they could not win," Arwydd replied evenly. Pryderi smiled at the use of his own logic against him.

"You intrigue me, daughter of House Evnissien," the wizard stated. He gathered up the books at his feet and stood. "Return when the fire of Amser-Colofn fades completely. I shall buy your wine, and once we have had a drink, you shall have your answer."

"It is a reunion I shall eagerly await," Arwydd said. Pryderi bowed deeply to the young priestess, then took his staff and left the tavern.

* * *

From her balcony overlooking House Evnissien's compound and the northern districts of Llyr, Matron Saffir Evnissien could see the burgeoning empire that she and her mother before her had worked so hard to create. For the century that she had ruled, as well as the final century of her mother's reign, the nobles and commoners of House Evnissien had begun to distinguish themselves among the houses of the city, winning victories against threats both inside Llyr and in the lonely tunnels beyond. The great houses of Llyr had finally recognized the growing power of the seventeenth house, and quietly applauded when Saffir had finished her mother's quest to rise in power with the masterful coup of the now extinct House Gryffydd, sealing their current position in the hierarchy.

Saffir shook her head faintly as she cleared the musings from her mind. House Gryffydd had been the seventeenth house until Evnissien had eliminated them, but that house had been on the verge of falling even before Saffir's attack. Dreaming of past victories over collapsing houses would not help her in her current strategies. House Hen Wyneb was strong, with a powerful matron mother and three daughters, two of whom, were already high priestesses of Lolth and the third nearing completion of her studies at Arlais-Corryn. Hen Wyneb had, at last count, almost four hundred soldiers, outnumbering Saffir's three hundred twenty, and the resources to buy even more from the markets should Matron Ceridwen suspect an attack. The current patron and weaponmaster of the fifteenth house, Llawr Hen Wyneb, was a truly deadly combatant, and could likely defeat any ten of Matron Saffir's commoner soldiers.

"Matron Mother," a reverent voice said from behind her. Saffir Evnissien turned away from the view of her compound, to meet her eldest daughter standing in the doorway to the small balcony.

"Yes, Talaith," Saffir prompted.

"Arwydd has returned from the markets," Talaith began. Saffir's heir to the throne was slightly taller than the matron mother, with the same lithe, deceptively powerful frame of her mother and the burning crimson eyes of her father, Athruis. "She says that House Gwalchgwynn will almost certainly join us in our cause. She simply awaits Matron Morfyl's confirmation of alliance."

"They are a weak house," Saffir said quietly, turning back to the balcony. Talaith stepped to the rail with a faint rustle of her gown. "They should consider themselves lucky that they have even made it to the twentieth house. We need Brenin Llywd."

"Hetwn is almost certain they will aid us, as well," Talaith said. "But even without them, a surprise attack on Hen Wyneb will almost certainly gain us a victory. Ceridwen is strong, but not unbeatable."

"Yes, we would likely win," Saffir conceded, looking back over her shoulder as she spoke. "But we will be left open to House Lainbhui. You must learn to consider all the angles, Talaith, or you will bring ruin to our house."

"Brenin Llywd must join us," Talaith pressed. "They know Ceridwen's desires. Every house in Llyr knows that she already plans Brenin Llywd's destruction."

"Just as we know House Lainbhui plans ours," Saffir countered. "And just as House Maredudd knows that we will eventually turn on them. Our only element of surprise in this affair is that we plan to attack the fifteenth house, and not the sixteenth. Even then, we must hope that House Maredudd and House Lainbhui do not turn on us once we are finished with Ceridwen and her spawn. No, we cannot afford to move quickly in this matter. We must gain alliances and swell our ranks."

"Perhaps House Maredudd will aid us," Talaith suggested. Saffir shook he head.

"Telyn will not aid a house directly below her gain power," the matron mother said. "She rightly fears us already. If she aids anyone, it will be Hen Wyneb, in the hopes that a protracted battle will weaken us both."

Matron mother and heir stood on the balcony for a long moment in silence. In that moment, Saffir briefly imagined a dark future, seeing her fences broken, her gate melted, and the nobles of House Evnissien laid out to slaughter. A failed coup against Hen Wyneb would bring the wrath of all of Llyr on her head, and drow justice would demand her house be annihilated. Simply defeating Hen Wyneb would not be good enough, the matron realized. It would have to be a perfect victory.

"Matron Saffir?" Talaith said quietly.

"What is it?" Saffir asked.

"What of Hetwn's agent?" Talaith inquired. Saffir hesitated for a moment.

"Hetwn's agent… has failed."


	4. Alliances Sealed

**III**

There were few places in Llyr that she disliked more.

Daere Hen Wyneb, the second daughter of the fifteenth house of Llyr, gazed about her with barely concealed disgust as she made her way through the Central Market. The common drow in the market's winding thoroughfares quickly moved out of the way of the high priestess, bowing their heads at her passing. Duergar merchants and mercenaries showed some small measure of deference to the noble daughter, perhaps realizing that her _piwafwi's_ black fabric, marked with green and violet motes, marked her as a member of the noble houses, or perhaps they simply feared the snake headed whip writhing on her belt. Tall, strikingly beautiful, and well muscled beneath the fine chain mail she wore, Daere Hen Wyneb and her small entourage struck a powerful presence in the narrow streets of the markets.

Daere glanced back at her tiny retinue once more, reminding herself as she inspected the half dozen soldiers with her that she would only have to suffer the markets for perhaps a few more weeks. Following only a step behind on her left, Tarren Hen Wyneb, Matron Ceridwen's third daughter, studied her sister's every move in preparation to take her place buying and selling in the markets. In fact, had it not been for the current crisis, Tarren, certainly smaller and far less imposing than Daere, would be the only daughter of Hen Wyneb in the market.

It was the crisis that kept Daere alert and at least partially willing to accept her current role seriously. Only last night Tarren had purchased the contracts of a half dozen mercenaries, but Matron Ceridwen's scrutiny of the soldiers had uncovered a spy from another house in the form of a lanky drow fighter. Hours of torture had uncovered little about the potential traitor to House Hen Wyneb, but the simple fact that the male had held out against Daere's brutal interrogation spoke volumes about his skill and training. Only a house at least as powerful as Hen Wyneb could have placed such a talented spy into the house, meaning that someone in the city was preparing to make a move against the fifteenth house. Daere could only think of a handful of houses with both the resources and the motive to attack her family. House Maredudd was certainly her first guess, as they were the sixteenth house and looking to increase there position by any means necessary, but House Brenin Llywd could certainly have also tried to plant a spy inside the house. Matron Eirian was no fool, and she certainly worried that Hen Wyneb would try to usurp the fourteenth house.

"Sister, we are here," Tarren said quietly, shaking the priestess from her musings. Daere cursed herself for having been so absorbed in her thoughts, but quickly straightened herself and turned to her younger sister.

"Perhaps this time you could pick a mercenary that is no traitor," Daere said curtly, gesturing to the drow before her. They had arrived at a small, two walled structure where several male and female drow sat at small tables or stood within the confines of the L shaped area, talking quietly among themselves or simply reading parchments hung on the wall. As the two obvious nobles and the four warriors with them came to a halt in front of the meeting place, the mercenary hall fell near silent. Tarren glanced back to her sister, but Daere simply gestured to the open hall. "You have done this before," Daere said. "Find us two wizards."

"As you wish," Tarren said. Daere watched her sister step forward hesitantly. Still uncertain of how much power she wielded outside the commoners of her house, the youngest daughter of Hen Wyneb was nearly embarrassing her older sister as she paused and cleared her throat. "House Hen Wyneb has need of two wizards," Tarren called out. A dozen or so of the commoners, both male and female, stood from their tables or stepped forward to be acknowledged. Daere scowled slightly as she studied the apparent magic users. Only two of them seemed to be old enough to have experienced anything more than the most simplistic training and combat. Slowly Daere made her way past Tarren to the group of mages, considering each one in turn. She stopped in front of a particularly young looking female, appraising the smaller drow for a moment.

"You forsake the Spider Queen for the arcane arts?" the priestess asked sternly.

"It… was not my path," the young female replied timidly. "I would give my life to Lolth, or to your House, if the need arose."

"You would give your life to Lolth or Hen Wyneb whether or not you desired it," Daere snapped, grabbing the sorceress by the chin and locking her icy gaze on her quarry. The mage struggled for only the faintest instant before growing still, but her scarlet eyes shone with fear as she tried to meet the noble daughter's glare. "Why should House Wyneb hire you, and not one of these other wizards? You are young, most likely inexperienced. Can you even cast a fireball?"

"No, mistress," the female replied, dropping her eyes.

"You would be better off with me," another voice said, halfway down the line of assembled mages.

"You, male, will speak only when you are spoken to!" Tarren ordered harshly, drawing the snake whip on her belt. Daere turned to the speaker, a relatively young male, slightly shorter but more muscular than the diminutive Tarren, with a single scalp lock of snowy white hair and blood colored eyes that showed a measure of confidence that was somewhat rare in males addressing priestesses of Lolth. Daere released the girl in front of her as she stalked forward on the cloaked wizard.

"And why should I hire you?" Daere inquired, ignoring Tarren as she stopped in front of the mage.

"Because I have no intention of dying for your house," the male replied. "I find that dying does little to aid a house in battle. I prefer to make other drow die for their houses."

"Truly," Daere said. "You are bold for a grimy commoner. Do you have the skills to back up your banter?"

"If a single fireball is all you require, then I certainly do," the male said.

"Insolent commoner!" Tarren exclaimed, drawing her arm back to strike. Daere put up a hand to stay her younger sister. Slowly, a smile formed across her lips.

"Perhaps I did not restrain my sister," the priestess said. "Do you think you could defeat her?"

"I am here for gold coins, not a swift death," the male replied, evading a direct answer.

"Why would I want you, if you cannot even defeat her?" Daere inquired. She could feel Tarren's indignant rage pouring off of her, but the priestess cared little for her sister's wounded pride. For his part, the wizard shrugged.

"If she attacks me, I will defeat her," he stated simply. Daere's smile widened slightly.

"Tarren, take him," the priestess said.

Tarren growled in fury and drove forward, but before she could snap her whip down on the male, he had dropped low to the ground, drawing a short sword from somewhere in his cloak and neatly driving the tip of the blade to Tarren's throat. The younger daughter stopped in midswing, her eyes shining with rage as she realized that a mere male had her at his mercy. For a moment the two remained motionless, a faint smirk on the male's face and Tarren's eyes darting from the blade at her throat to her older sister.

"I want a wizard, not a warrior," Daere said matter of factly.

"And I do cast spells," the male replied, holding his blade fast against Tarren's throat. "But you did not make that a requirement of this battle."

"Kill him," Tarren hissed, humiliated by the spectacle. Daere hesitated a moment.

"And you can cast a fireball?" the priestess inquired, ignoring her sister.

"Certainly, mistress," the male replied.

"What is your name?" Daere asked.

"Neifion," the male answered.

"You are now in the employ of House Hen Wyneb, Neifion," Daere declared. "Fall in behind me."

"As you wish, mistress," Neifion said, sheathing his blade and bowing to Daere. The priestess watched him as he fell in quietly behind her, noticing easily the pure hatred that Tarren felt for the commoner. Daere considered the price of a mage with the skills of a fighter for a brief moment, but put those thoughts aside as she pondered her next contract. At the end of the line of mages, a female, tall, thin, and sporting burn scars down the left side of her face, leaned patiently on her staff as she watched the proceedings. Daere stalked down the line, appraising the half dozen or so commoners between her and the scarred female, until she came to a stop in front of her new target.

"And you have forsaken the spider Queen as well," the priestess said. "Why should I even consider you for a contract?"

"Because I am the most powerful mage here," the woman said simply. Her crimson eyes seemed almost disinterested with the conversation, a sure sign that she had been through the hiring process several times.

"I could have my newest acquisition defeat you," Daere snarled, gesturing to Neifion, "and he has diluted his spellcasting with swordplay!"

"That was his mistake," the scarred female stated simply. Daere's face flushed with anger for a brief instant, but then she smiled faintly.

"Most powerful mage here," the priestess repeated. "Why do you say that?"

"Because a fireball is child's play," the mage replied. "An ice storm is far more impressive when it follows a pair of lightning bolts through an attacking force."

Daere considered the boast for a moment as she studied the mage. As far as the priestess could tell, this one was not lying, and such a display of power could stop almost any attacking house in its tracks.

"What is your name?" Daere asked. The scarred female smirked at the question.

"Collwen," she replied, already knowing what to expect.

"You are now in the employ of House Hen Wyneb," Daere said. "Fall in behind me."

Collwen did as she was told, casting a smug smirk behind her at the wizards that had not been chosen. Daere considered the other mages for a moment, then spat on the ground in front of her.

"The rest of you are pathetic," the priestess said coldly. "Die in the service of minor houses. You are not fit for Hen Wyneb."

* * *

"I would think it was Maredudd. They are, after all, our most immediate enemy."

"That is precisely why I do not suspect them so much," Matron Ceridwen Hen Wyneb stated, pacing the plush carpet of her small, lavishly decorated personal chamber. The Matron Mother of Llyr's fifteenth house was clothed only in a translucent crimson gown, allowing Llawr, the weaponmaster and patron of Hen Wyneb, to see every curve of the female drow's magnificent body. From his vantage point on the soft cushions and pillows of Ceridwen's oval bed, the drow came to the conclusion, as he had so many times before, that ugly drow women were not allowed to be nobles, much less matron mothers. "They are too obvious, and they know that we watch them too closely."

"They have the most to gain from our downfall," Llawr pointed out, swinging his feet to the floor and standing. The weaponmaster, naked except for the enchanted pendant he wore around his neck, gently caught the matron mother as she stalked past him. "And sometimes, the obvious answer is actually the answer."

"We would have known about something like this," Ceridwen said, pulling away from the slightly shorter male's grip. She studied her patron's well muscled body for a long moment, her eyes lingering just below his waist, but then she resumed her pacing. "No. House Brenin Llywd is involved in this somehow, I suspect. After their assassination of Rhawn, I can almost feel their hand in this."

"We have more enemies below us than above," Llawr stated, thinking back to Rhawn's assassination. The commoner priestess had held great potential and Ceridwen had shown a deep interest in developing the drow as her own personal handmaiden, but the simple assassination of a commoner rather than a noble bothered the weaponmaster. There were conspiracies aligning against his house, Llawr knew, but for the moment he could not identify the conspirators. "Regardless of Rhawn's murder, we must watch Maredudd, Evnissien, and Lainbhui."

"Maredudd watches Evnissien, and Evnissien watches Lainbhui," Ceridwen said, stopping in front of a large, full length mirror to consider her reflection in the light of faerie fire torches set around the top of her chamber. The matron mother's silver hair practically glowed blue and red from the enchanted fires, while the combination of light and shadows, darkvision and normal sight, did little to quell Llawr's rising desire. The patron followed her across the room, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind as he gently kissed her back.

"Let Banon and Daere concern themselves with these matters for the present," Llawr suggested, gently guiding her back toward the bed. Daere was Llawr's oldest child, a powerful, ruthless priestess, and Banon, Ceridwen's oldest daughter, was just as capable as his own daughter. Ceridwen resisted the patron's pull, however, still concerned with the politics of the drow city.

"We'll need more soldiers," the matron said as Llawr gently kissed her neck.

"I shall recruit and train them myself, mistress," the weaponmaster offered absently. Ceridwen hesitated a moment more, but finally let her consort draw her back to her bed.

"You are a dangerous patron, Llawr," she said as she gave in to his temptations.

"It is why you love me so," Llawr explained with a smile.

* * *

Amser-Colofn's fire had nearly extinguished as Arwydd made her way back into the tavern where she had met Pryderi, dimming the market's already gloomy light to near total darkness. Although Arwydd could see perfectly well through the inky darkness of the alleys, she far preferred the color afforded by visible light to the dull, stale shades of gray that her darkvision provided. While she would never want to see the hellish ball of light that baked the surface in its searing flames, Arwydd had come to appreciate the soft hues of faerie fire over the total darkness of the outer caverns of Llyr. Now, as she drifted to a small corner table set back near the bar of the tavern, she could see the sparks of new faerie fires glowing among tents and stalls. Even at midnight, the Central Market bustled with activity.

Arwydd had barely settled into her seat when a young drow boy appeared at her side, showing the respect all males showed to their betters but nothing resembling the reverence he would have shown had he known the drow he waited on was a noble priestess. Arwydd ignored the lapse of respect as she flipped him a silver coin and sent him for a glass of wine, her focus on the other occupants of the bar rather than the ignorant boy. For all of her calm preparation, the noble found herself strangely on edge as she waited for Pryderi to show himself. With a mixture of concern and eagerness she watched the other patrons of the tavern around her, until her serving boy returned with her wine. Arywdd was so focused on the other people around her that it took a moment for her to notice that the serving boy had returned her silver piece, as well as left a tiny piece of parchment beneath the crystal flute of wine.

Arwydd picked up the tiny message carefully, suspecting a trap as she turned the parchment over in her hands. As a wizard, Pryderi could have easily inscribed a rune on the parchment that could ensnare, blind, or even kill the priestess, but Arwydd refused to be caught in such a transparent trap. With a brief, whispered prayer to Lolth, Arywdd was able to see magic emanations, but the parchment in her hands contained no dweomer that her spell could detect. Still, the priestess carefully unfolded the parchment, bracing herself to fend of dangerous magic if Pryderi had found a way to shield his spells from her detection.

The parchment contained only a few words, written in the blocky, ugly language of the duergar dwarves. Arwydd knew the language well, even if she disliked its vulgar, harsh vocabulary, and as she read through the few lines the noble's face lit with joy. Realizing her mistake, the noble quickly forced herself to remain stony and emotionless, glancing around furtively to make certain that no one had paid her any heed. Of the few drow and a handful of duergar that were currently occupying the tavern, none of them seemed to notice her or her reaction.

Her mission accomplished, Arwydd tucked the parchment into the folds of her cloak and stood slowly, downing her wine with a single gulp before leaving the tavern with a vague feeling of disappointment. Although she had received word that House Gwalchgwynn would lend aid in her family's attempt to oust House Hen Wyneb, Arwydd would have much rather received the news from Pryderi himself.

* * *

Hetwn made his way silently through the catacombs beneath the streets of Llyr, suspecting an attack at any moment in the inky darkness. While his darkvision provided him with sight in the impenetrable gloom, the wizard was far from happy with House Brenin Llywd's choice of meeting places. Although most drow knew of the narrow, winding tunnels that ran beneath the western portions of Llyr, few were the drow that would ever willingly venture into those caves. The Lower Passages were home to more than a few horrors, not the least of which were the cursed driders, drow-spider crossbreeds that had been cast out of the city and now sought petty vengeance against any dark elf foolish enough to wander into their clutches. The narrow tunnels also stole Hetwn's greatest advantage, the ability to cast from range, and that worried the wizard immensely. If Heilyn or any other member of Brenin Llywd wished him dead, they would be far more suited to do so in the Lower Passages, where Hetwn would not be able to distance himself from his attackers.

The wizard rounded another bend in the tunnel he followed, taking great care to memorize his journey as he walked. Even if the meeting was not an ambush, Hetwn wanted to be able to find his way back out of the tunnels. Another bend appeared ahead of him, and the wizard carefully turned the corner.

The bend led him to a small, roughly oval chamber, its ceiling only a foot, at best, above Hetwn's head. Stalactites ran from the ceiling to the floor, creating a virtual maze of stone pillars, but toward the rear of the tiny, cluttered chamber the patron could see his intended rendezvous. Heilyn Brenin Llywd sat casually on a chunk of stone, while behind him a half dozen other drow, including two priestesses, waited patiently.

"Seven of you have come for only me?" Hetwn asked, his hand dropping to the wand on his belt. He could never win against such odds, but the patron was more than willing to drag at least one or two of his attackers into Lolth's web with him. "You won't find me so easy to defeat, secondboy."

"That's good," Heilyn said, standing. "Because otherwise, I'd have to rethink giving you these soldiers."

"You're giving me soldiers?" Hetwn repeated suspiciously. Heilyn nodded.

"Matron Eirian has weighed her options," the secondboy said, resting his hand on the pommel of his ornate sword. "She knows what House Hen Wyneb wants, and that is position as the fourteenth house of Llyr. We, of course, occupy that position. Therefore, any who try to weaken or depose House Hen Wyneb is an ally of House Brenin Llywd. And House Brenin Llywd always helps its allies. These six soldiers are yours, a present from Matron Eirian to Matron Saffir."

"Matron Saffir accepts your gift graciously," Hetwn said, although he could not shake the suspicion that something was wrong. The six commoners with Heilyn unclasped their cloaks and took new ones from the floor, and as Heilyn produced a simple, dim light from the folds of his _piwafwi_ Hetwn could see that the new garments were the cloaks worn by the common soldiers of his own house. As the wizard turned a questioning gaze on Heilyn, the secondboy shrugged with a faint smile.

"We have very good tailors," the noble son said. "Take Lolth's blessing, and strike down our common foe."

Hetwn nodded his thanks, then turned and led his new entourage back to the city.


	5. Preparations for Defense

**IV**

It had surprised him that House Hen Wyneb would be this careless.

Naomhin Evnissien, the elderboy of his house, crouched next to the second floor window of a newly abandoned home of mixed mushroom and stone, watching carefully as the guards of House Hen Wyneb made their rounds of the fourteenth house's compound. House Hen Wyneb stood in the open on a faint rise in the eastern reaches of Llyr, where it could watch over the lichen farms and the herds of rothe that made up the bulk of Hen Wyneb's income. Many of the commoners that lived near the house were also employed by the noble family, while the house's slaves were contained in the squat, ugly buildings that were crammed against the northern fence of the compound. Those blocky barracks were the only buildings that had not been created with painstaking care; five towers of gracefully curved stone, slim in the middle before expanding into bulblike minarets, sat in a perfectly spaced pentagram around the centerpiece of House Hen Wyneb's picturesque rock gardens, a graceful water fountain lit with soft hues of red and violet faerie fire and ringed with some of the more beautiful versions of mushrooms that were found in the deepest caverns of drow territory. The house's elegant fence, heavy, twisting black steel bars topped with _fleur de lis_ shaped spikes, was as ominous as it was ornate, able to withstand the fireballs of even the most powerful wizards, while catwalks and smaller, curving towers along the perimeter allowed the defenders excellent fields of fire against an attacking house. The wrought steel gates were no less imposing, and from his vantage point Naomhin could count no less than a dozen of Hen Wyneb's guards watching the streets and alleys that separated the compound from the dwellings of the lesser drow around them.

Naomhin considered the defenses for a long moment before turning back to the interior of the house, thanking Lolth once more that he had been born a noble. While the nobles of the city enjoyed spacious chambers, beautiful gardens, and servants to cook their food, the commoners of Llyr had no such luxuries. Most of them occupied small houses that served two or even three families, with each individual drow receiving little more than a bed and some small amount of privacy from heavy curtains and maybe a kobold or goblin slave. The nobles of Llyr were given the opportunity to master magic or the martial arts, while most commoners could barely manage a cantrip or a basic parry. Such had been the case with the dark elves that once lived in the house Naomhin now occupied; they had tried to defend themselves, but four drow had fallen to Naomhin's practiced and deadly blades. Two more, one male and one female child, neither old enough to even lift a blade, had been taken back quietly to House Evnissien's compound, to be raised by the handmaidens of the house as future soldiers in Matron Saffir's personal army.

The elderboy of House Evnissien turned back to the compound across the street, making a count again of the guards that patrolled Hen Wyneb's grounds. The details of the compound were of the utmost importance if House Evnissien was to have a chance against their enemy. Naomhin had spent two day watching the houses surrounding the compound for a drow family that did not work for the nobles, then had spent another two days after removing the residents simply watching Hen Wyneb go through their routines. Matron Saffir certainly had other spies to watch over the fourteenth house, but Naomhin preferred a far more hands on approach to his intelligence. After all, he would likely be the one to lead the first charge against House Hen Wyneb, and he preferred not to rely on some glorified commoner with a short attention span to give him vital information.

A faint creak, barely perceptible even in the silence of the abandoned home, caught Naomhin's attention. The elderboy's hands dropped to the swords belted on his hips.

"I hope you don't entertain thoughts of taking my place, Fychan," Naomhin stated evenly, without turning back to the sound. "The matron mother would not take well to your ploy on the eve of war with another house."

"Brother, your distrust wounds me," Fychan said, a bit melodramatically. Naomhin glanced over his shoulder at his younger brother, the tallest, and possibly thinnest, member of House Evnissien. The secondboy smiled at his brother as he smoothed out his flowing black robes, but Naomhin had the feeling that Fychan's long, delicate fingers had been far too close to the wand tucked into the simple belt around his waist. "I would never think of slaying my own brother."

"Then what are you doing here?" Naomhin inquired as Fychan moved next to him.

"I have come to observe my enemy," the wizard replied evenly. Naomhin could not be certain if his brother meant House Hen Wyneb or him. "It won't be long now," Fychan continued as Naomhin glanced to the secondboy. "A few weeks, maybe less. Gwalchgwynn and Brenin Llywd have both pledged support. Caer Llion will take no great part in the upcoming battle."

"Caer Llion is not the only ally to Hen Wyneb," Naomhin informed the wizard. "See those guards at the gate? The ones on the left side?"

"I do," Fychan replied.

"They are from House Lleision," Naomhin said. Fychan chuckled faintly.

"The twenty-fourth house?" the wizard surmised. "If that is all we have to fear, we have indeed garnered Lolth's blessing."

"More soldiers are still more soldiers," Naomhin said. "And I doubt House Lleision is the only house trying to gain Hen Wyneb's favor."

"Ever cautious, Naomhin," Fychan said with a hint of humor. "I suppose that is why you are the elderboy, and I merely the secondboy."

Naomhin said nothing at his brother's flippant remark, reminding himself that Matron Saffir would never allow Fychan to try and usurp his place when she needed every noble she could get. Fychan, for his part, dropped the conversation as he peered over his older brother's shoulder, watching the gate and the guards around it.

"House Lleision is not known for their wonderful fighters," the wizard commented after a few minutes of silence. "And if they cluster at the gate, Hetwn and I can wipe them out with a few well placed lightning bolts."

"We'll need a way to make them cluster," Naomhin decided. "Possibly a slave force, to breach the gate and force their warriors into action."

"We'll need archers ready as well, to cull their own spellcasters once they reveal themselves," Fychan added. He looked over the pentagram of towers for a moment. "I have no doubt Maddox will be atop one of those towers, just waiting for our soldiers to force their way through the gate."

"He is a threat," Naomhin admitted. Maddox Hen Wyneb was an instructor at Llyfrdy-Lledreth, the school of magic in Llyr, and was known as a gifted and very lethal evoker. Naomhin had seen him in action against a force of seasoned duergar raiders, and the elderboy of House Evnissien had no true desire to have to face his counterpart in Hen Wyneb in an open battle. "It would be better if we could remove him before the assault," the noble said quietly.

"Easier said than done," Fychan stated. The secondboy paused for a long moment. When Naomhin turned back to his brother, the wizard was just beginning to smile. "But I think I may have a way to remove him."

* * *

Arlais-Corryn, the school of the Spider Queen and the most sacred building in all of Llyr, dominated the huge dais of stone that rose in the center of the city. The enormous temple and its dormitories had been painstakingly carved from huge blocks of obsidian and crafted by both master craftsmen and powerful priestesses into the shape of a spider, its huge mandibles extending out to form an enclosed walkway of basalt flagstones to the massive, obsidian and gold double doors that led into the temple itself. Directly through the doors, a short walkway led to the main temple, a gigantic, domed chamber of obsidian walls and a seamless, black marble floor, easily capable of holding a thousand worshippers at once. The main altar, like so many throughout the city, was also carved into the likeness of a spider, made of pure alabaster and decorated with obsidian, gold, and silver inlays. Statues lined the circular chamber at regular intervals, ranging from huge, demonic spiders and other fiendish monsters to the likenesses of great priestesses of Llyr's past. Behind the altar, towering almost to the thirty foot ceiling of the main hall of worship, was the image of Lolth herself, an exquisitely beautiful drow woman with the mandibles of a spider and six arms, each wielding a dagger. Soft green faerie fire glowed around each dagger, while red pinpoints of the eldritch flames burned in the enormous rubies that formed Lolth's eyes. 

It was here that Banon Hen Wyneb, the heir to the fifteenth house of Llyr, felt most comfortable. The noble was one of the senior instructors of Arlais-Corryn and a high priestess of the Spider Queen, and she was already well aware of the whispers circulating around the drow city. Many considered her talented and ruthless enough to become Mistress of the Academy, but her house's relatively low standing would handicap her ascent to power. Banon relished the chance to take command of the most powerful institution in Llyr, and often, as the last fire of Amser-Colofn faded out in the courtyard in the center of the three drow schools, the priestess could be found in one of the private chapels, praying for guidance from the Spider Queen herself in her and her house's steady climb through the ranks of Llyr.

Today, however, Banon had no time for the devotions that she gave so often to Lolth. The oldest daughter of House Hen Wyneb was aware of the rumors swirling through the city, of the possibility that House Brenin Llywd or some other house may be taking measures to eliminate the fifteenth house. Banon knew that Hen Wyneb could stand up to all but the most stubborn assault, but the simple fact that the rumors had persisted worried the high priestess. A battle now, with so many other eyes upon her house, could mean a frenzy of attacks that would eventually cripple Hen Wyneb, and Banon had no intentions of seeing her house fall while she was still alive.

Banon swept easily through the long, ornate pews of the central temple, ignoring the lowly acolytes that had only begun their tutelage at Arlais-Corryn that year. The hopeful priestesses lowered their eyes and bowed reverently as they recognized the woman striding down the main aisle; Banon's tall, powerful frame and relatively short, silvery white hair were easily identifiable even without the gossamer, weblike robes she wore and the snake whip writhing on her belt. Banon was one of the most physically powerful priestesses in all of Llyr, and in battles past she had often joined wild melees after exhausting her spells.

To the left and the right of the huge statue of Lolth, doors led to other parts of Arlais-Corryn. To the left, passages branched out into the dormitories and classrooms of the academy, while to the right, smaller, private chapels had been built for high priestesses and more informal gatherings. Banon moved to these latter doors, a not at all uncommon occurrence considering her daily prayers. But today, Banon searched out one private chapel in particular, one that was dedicated to the second house of Llyr, the powerful and old House Caer Llion. Banon stopped in front of the closed door that led into the chapel, listening for a long moment. A faint odor of incense drifted up from the crack beneath the door, and the priestess could hear low chanting inside. After only another moment of hesitation, Banon knocked lightly on the door. The chanting stopped immediately.

"Who is it?" the unseen devotee inside asked curtly.

"Banon Hen Wyneb," the noble replied. "I must speak with you."

There was a faint rustle inside as the occupant walked to the door. It opened after only another second, revealing a short, painfully beautiful dark elf with flowing, almost perfectly silver hair braided to her waist, dressed in a simple dress of maroon silk rather than the gossamer robes of a priestess. She looked up at Banon for a long moment, her blood colored eyes showing her irritation at the interruption.

"Thank you for seeing me, Lowri," Banon said, bowing slightly to the third daughter of House Caer Llion. Banon privately found the woman distasteful to say the least; Lowri was not as devout or as powerful as Banon in any fashion, but her house's position had given Lowri a position as Mistress of Instruction, one of the most powerful members of Arlais-Corryn and a title that Banon felt she deserved.

"Come in," Lowri said, turning and walking back into the private chapel. Banon followed the far smaller woman in, remaining just inside as her superior- the thought of Lowri as superior nearly made Banon choke- descended the two steps to the marble floor of the chapel. Far from the grand temples and chapels that Caer Llion had created both in their own magnificent compound and in the Central Market of Llyr, the chamber contained only a single altar, a smooth but rather unimpressive table of basalt with some simple spider carvings, and a half dozen wooden chairs. As she reached the center of the small chapel, Lowri turned back to her guest. "What does House Hen Wyneb need?"

"Information," Banon replied. Lowri may have been one of the most beautiful women in all of Llyr, but her personality, or lack thereof, was just as noticeable. "Have you heard rumors of a possible house war in the near future?"

"No," Lowri replied simply. "Llyr has been rather quiet this last decade."

"That time may be over," Banon said. "First Rhawn was murdered, and now we have uncovered a spy trying to infiltrate Hen Wyneb."

"This sounds like a concern of yours," Lowri stated bluntly. "Not mine."

"If you wish to maintain an alliance with Hen Wyneb, for fear that House Siryddion will discover how few allies you really have, it would be in your interest to aid us," Banon said, slowly losing her patience with the Caer Llion daughter. "We have pledged in the past to support you in your quest to become first house, but we will not continue that alliance unless you aid us in our time of need."

Lowri considered the threat for a moment, considering the burning anger she could no doubt see in Banon's eyes. The priestess had hoped that she would not have to threaten Lowri with the end of their alliance; Hen Wyneb needed Caer Llion to shield them from the machinations of Maredudd and Evnissien just as much as the second house needed the aid of the fifteenth to keep House Siryddion, the powerful third house, from launching an attack on the Caer Llion compound.

"Matron Vala will not take kindly to your threats," Lowri stated coldly.

"I do not wish to threaten," Banon said. "But we cannot aid you if we ourselves are defeated or badly damaged by another house. All we ask is information, and maybe some few soldiers or some gold to aid us in any defense that may be required. Surely it is not so much to ask from mighty House Caer Llion."

"Our defenses are stretched thin at the moment," Lowri stated. "House Siryddion edges closer to us with each passing day."

"Exactly the reason you should aid us now," Banon countered, expecting just such an evasion. "The sooner we have defeated our enemies, the sooner we can return your aid to us with our own soldiers and magic."

Lowri, predictably, looked disgusted by Banon's logic, but the daughter of Caer Llion finally nodded.

"I shall speak to Matron Vala," Lowri said. Banon smiled, expecting just such an answer.

"It is all I can ask of you," the daughter of hen Wyneb said.

* * *

"We'll still need more soldiers." 

"House Lleision's soldiers will not be overly difficult to defeat," Matron Saffir said, considering the information her oldest son had brought her. The matron of House Evnissien paced easily behind the spider shaped altar in her chapel, too anxious to sit on her throne as Naomhin waited patiently on the opposite side of the altar. "The main difficulty will be breaking through the gate before Hen Wyneb's wizards can bring the full force of their magic upon us."

Fychan says he might have a way to remove Maddox before our attack," Naomhin stated. "He would not tell me more than that he would need some time to arrange things at Llyfrdy-Lledreth."

"Removing Maddox would take away their most powerful wizard," Saffir said, more to herself then to her eldest son. Naomhin nodded in wordless agreement. "But we cannot afford a move against Maddox too soon before our planned attack."

"We'll still need Gwalchgwynn and Brenin Llywd to give us more assistance," Naomhin said. "A half dozen soldiers from Brenin Llywd alone will not win the fight."

"Arwydd will bring us aid from Gwalchgwynn," Saffir said. The matron placed a great deal of confidence in her second daughter; though Arwydd would likely never make a good matron mother, the younger priestess was an excellent operative when it came to sealing shadowy alliances with other houses. "And Hetwn has told me that Brenin Llywd will send more aid, in both soldiers and resources."

"We'll need a way to break the gate," Naomhin said again. "Once we can get inside the compound, we will be able to overpower Hen Wyneb, but the problem is still the gate."

"I will worry about the gate," Saffir said, turning to her son. "All you will need to do is deal with Hen Wyneb's guards."

"And Matron Ceridwen herself?" Naomhin asked. Saffir smiled.

"Athruis," the matron mother stated. Naomhin nodded faintly; Athruis, the house weaponmaster, a one time patron, and Naomhin's own father, was considered to be one of the finest swordsmen of Llyr. Naomhin had trained with the warrior from the day he could hold a sword, and knew for a fact just how lethal Athruis' two bladed sword could be. Before the elderboy could voice his approval of the matron's intentions, however, the doors to the Evnissien Chapel opened, and another dark elf entered the softly lit chamber.

The newcomer was shorter than Naomhin, largely shrouded by the oversized _piwafwi_ of House Evnissien that he wore. His snow white hair had been pulled back into a smooth ponytail except for two tiny braids dropping down the left side of his face. As the newcomer caught sight of the matron mother and her son, he dropped to one knee, lowering his blood red eyes immediately to the floor.

"Matron Mother," he said quietly, his melodic voice full of reverence. "I come bearing news."

"Stand, Cadwared," Saffir said. The commoner quickly got back to his feet, casting a quick glance to Naomhin as he approached. While Cadwared showed a great deal of respect and reverence for the matron, Naomhin knew the rogue's true feelings. The rogue was a shadowdancer, a member of the enigmatic Shadow Guild, who had sworn far more loyalty to the gold and gems that Matron Saffir paid him than to the matron herself. Naomhin knew that if the price was right Cadwared would as soon poison Matron Saffir as he would please her, but for the moment the bonuses of serving the woman outweighed the momentary pleasure of murdering her. "Give your report."

"Banon Hen Wyneb has met with Lowri Caer Llion," Cadwared stated simply.

"They spoke of their alliance?" Saffir concluded.

"I could not tell," Cadwared replied. "They met in Caer Llion's private chapel at Arlais-Corryn, where I could not follow. But considering Banon's light mood as she left the temple, I would assume that they have procured some sort of assistance from the second house."

"This will make things difficult," Naomhin said. "If Caer Llion commits any sort of force to the defense of Hen Wyneb-"

"They will not," Matron Saffir interrupted quickly. Naomhin knew as well as the matron what would happen if Care Llion's troops appeared in the courtyard of the fifteenth house; Brenin Llywd and especially Gwalchgwynn would balk at sending their forces against the tried and tested warriors of the second house. "They must guard against House Siryddion, and Matron Olwyn has been waiting for some time to strike at Caer Llion. Vala knows that. They can commit only token resources at best."

Naomhin said nothing at the matron's logic, hoping that she was correct. Naomhin had looked forward to this, his first true test against another house, and the arrival of Caer Llion could easily delay or even end any plans to attack Hen Wyneb.

"Shall I return to the streets and continue to shadow Banon Hen Wyneb?" Cadwared inquired, bringing Naomhin's attention back to the present. Matron Saffir hesitated a moment.

"No," she said thoughtfully. "I have a slightly different task for you, as well as Naomhin. House Hen Wyneb regularly ships food to House Caer Llion at discounted prices. If Hen Wyneb cannot protect their caravans from common thieves and brigands, it is possible that Caer Llion will reconsider their alliance."

"And we are to be the common brigands?" Naomhin asked, hiding his growing excitement. For over two months the elderboy had spent his time watching Hen Wyneb and waiting for the time to strike; now, it seemed, he would have his chance to see action, however minor the first strike would be.

"Kill everyone involved and steal as much as possible," Matron Saffir confirmed. "But be certain that no one knows we were involved."

"As you wish, mistress," Cadwared said, a smile creeping to his face. Naomhin also fought to suppress his grin as he nodded his readiness to carry out Saffir's will. Sensing his eagerness, Matron Saffir turned to her son.

"You are aware of their schedules already," she said. Naomhin nodded. "It must be quick, and it must be subtle."

"As you wish, mistress," Naomhin said. Both he and Cadwared knelt before the matron, then turned and left the chapel to begin preparations. Matron Saffir watched the doors slowly close behind her elderboy and the commoner, but then turned to the antechamber door hidden behind the marble webwork to her right.

"Talaith," the matron called out. Saffir's heir appeared a moment later, dressed in her chain mail and the spidery tunic that identified her as a high priestess of Lolth.

"Yes, mistress," Talaith said, kneeling momentarily in front of the altar.

"I need you to pay a visit to someone," Saffir said. "I have a feeling that their involvement in this could prove to be very beneficial."


	6. First Blood

**V**

In the glow of the fire of Amser-Colofn, the drow academy of magic, Llyfrdy-Lledreth, seemed to take on an almost sinister glow as the pillar of time denoted midday with its entire length alight. Carved and melded from one of the largest stalagmites in Llyr, the enormous tower seemed to twist up its entire height, sporting windows at irregular intervals along the spiraling ascent. At the top of the school, eight smaller towers jutted out from the main body of the building, the private labs of the school's eight most powerful wizards. Many other buildings in Llyr sported ornate gargoyles and statues, but Llyfrdy-Lledreth held no elaborate carved guardians. Only the painstaking spiral motif held any sort of embellishment, in the form of red and blue faerie fire that followed the twisting stone to the top of the building, where a single blue globe of fire, vaguely spiderlike in appearance, burned at the tip of the tower.

It was here that Fychan had spent so much of his earlier years, learning the arcane arts and mastering them as surely as his house would soon take its place as fifteenth house of Llyr. The secondboy of House Evnissien knew Llyfrdy-Lledreth inside and out. He had made it his duty to know everyone and everything in the mystical academy when he had first arrived over half a century earlier, making certain that he could see or plan an attack from any part of the tower. On several occasions his knowledge of the tower and of magic had served him well, and half a dozen ambitious wizards from rival houses had met their demise when Fychan had lured them into deceptively small or large rooms or ambushed them from hidden cubbies in the tower. This time, however, simple knowledge of terrain would not be enough to win the fight.

Standing near the entrance to Arlais-Corryn, Fychan had a clear view of the arched double doors of Llyfrdy-Lledreth. He could also see the wide steel doors and much of the domed roof of Ysgol-Cyfranc, the war academy of Llyr. That building Fychan knew almost nothing about, even though he had spent a year there to learn the rudiments of warfare and cooperative tactics with the warriors of the drow city. It was that which currently worried him, as his newest target would be emerging from those doors at any moment. Fychan had waited since the early morning for his quarry, and now, that person was finally appearing from the war academy. Smoothing his robes faintly, the wizard started after the drow warrior leaving Ysgol-Cyfranc, keeping one hand close to his wand of lightning as he approached.

"Bradwr Hen Wyneb," Fychan called out smoothly. The other drow turned quickly at the voice, his hand dropping near the emerald pommel of his long sword before even as he tried to identify the threat. Fychan moved his hands quickly away from his sides in a gesture of peace, but the well muscled young warrior before him did not relax his guard.

"You're an Evnissien?" the secondboy of House Hen Wyneb inquired, looking to the _piwafwi_ draped loosely about Fychan's shoulders. Bradwr was shorter than the wizard but far more imposing physically, with close cut, silvery white hair and eyes that touched on one of the rarest tones of drow eyes, a deep burgundy that seemed to border on black.

"I am," the wizard stated, bowing slightly. "Fychan Evnissien, secondboy of House Evnissien. I wish merely to speak with you."

"I don't have much time today," Bradwr said, turning and continuing to the ramps that led down to the rest of Llyr. Fychan kept up easily with the warrior's stride, taking quick stock of the sword belted on his hip and the shield slung over his shoulder. Bradwr's weapons and the fine chain mail he wore were almost certainly enchanted, but the wizard could wait for another time to test his suspicions with a detect magic spell.

"I wanted to speak with you about something… rather sensitive," Fychan said as the two drow began down the steps from the dais. "I'm sure you would find the topic rather interesting."

"I am certain," Bradwr stated simply, showing no interest in the conversation. Fychan chuckled slightly.

"We share similar predicaments," the wizard observed, keeping up with Bradwr as the swordsman increased his pace slightly. "Both of us talented, both of us ambitious, both of us held back by… elder family members."

Bradwr said nothing, but his pace slowed ever so slightly.

"It has been a thorn in my side for some time, at any rate," Fychan continued. "It is difficult enough. Being a mere male, I am ignored by my matron, and oftentimes by my sisters as well. As if I had not the same value they have. But to be spurned even by _him_…"

"Him?" Bradwr inquired, glancing to the wizard. His pace slowed slightly more. Fychan cast a fleeting glimpse back over his shoulder, quickly judging the distance to Ysgol-Cyfranc.

"Naomhin," the wizard finally answered, his voice a mere whisper. "My older brother."

"I know him," Bradwr said. Fychan had already been aware of that; Naomhin had been an instructor in Ysgol-Cyfranc for the past two years, during which time Bradwr had been completing his training at the war academy.

"An unpleasant individual," Fychan said with a weak smile. "But then again, I have studied with your older brother, Maddox. He is certainly proud of his stature and abilities."

"Without doubt," Bradwr agreed, a hint of anger creeping into his voice. Fychan nodded in agreement.

"He must be difficult to bear," the wizard assumed. "Much like my own brother. And the worst part is, they are more difficult to handle than either of us would like to admit."

Bradwr stopped and turned on the wizard.

"What do you want?" the warrior asked bluntly.

"Your help," Fychan answered. Bradwr glanced around of quickly.

"My help," he repeated. "My help with your brother?"

"Of course," Fychan answered. The wizard's face darkened. "I hate him. I despise him. A mere warrior, while I control the very elements!"

"But you cannot defeat him," Bradwr said. Fychan snarled in frustration.

"All I need is to keep him away from me," the wizard explained. "But he is too quick. He will close the distance before I can cast enough spells to finish him. And while my magic is certainly powerful, I cannot cast with his sword in my gut."

"My brother's magic is far too powerful for me," Bradwr admitted. "His wards and circles… no."

"No?" Fychan repeated. "Why not?"

"Because… because we face a threat from another house," Bradwr said. "If it were another time… but I cannot, not now."

"What better time than now?" Fychan countered enthusiastically. "If Maddox dies of magic, then you are not to blame and your scapegoats are already provided! All you need to do is keep him from casting, and I will finish him!"

Bradwr considered his logic for a long moment, but Fychan could tell that the warrior could barely contain his desire to be rid of Maddox.

"Not now," Bradwr said. "Talk to me another time."

"As you wish," Fychan said. "I am easy to find, Bradwr, and I am always looking for allies."

* * *

It was rare for her to come down to the mines, but today she had little other choice.

Talaith Evnissien picked her way carefully through the supports and the piles of crushed stone that obstructed the short, narrow passages almost fifty feet directly blow House Evnissien, ducking in many places as the roof of the tunnels dropped to less than her five and a half foot height. Vulgar, harsh voices shouted to each other around her, evidence of miners working in the swirling clouds of dust and cramped side tunnels. The miners worked in total darkness, and although Talaith's darkvision allowed her to see in shades of gray around her, she still had a difficult time making out the shapes of the duergar working all around her. At least fifty of the gray dwarves worked the mines of House Evnissien, a profitable agreement that had lasted for well over a decade. The duergar, miners without peer when it came to extracting minerals from the earth, were far more thorough and swift than slave labor, making up for the wages Matron Saffir paid and then some. Still, Talaith thought, the duergar were infuriating to her. The noble daughter was marked both by the _piwafwi_ of her house and the weblike tunic over her chain mail as a priestess of Lolth, but even as one of the short, burly miners cut directly across her path, he refused to give her even a deferential nod of his head. The duergar may have been excellent miners and nearly tireless workers, but they stubbornly refused to show any respect to their betters.

Talaith pushed her way through one particularly narrow passage, emerging into a small cave away from the miners' shouts and the constant ringing of picks and hammers. Here three of the duergar stood around a table lit by a single candle in a sconce, although from the sour looks on their faces Talaith could tell that none of the squat, ugly creatures enjoyed the faint illumination. While the drow enjoyed the colors brought about by the soft, cool glows of faerie fire and the occasional candle, the gray dwarves preferred to live their lives in total darkness. Even in the light, Talaith could find little difference between a duergar in light vision or darkvision; each of the creatures had slate colored skin, and their largely bald scalps held only a few stringy hairs of a slightly lighter gray. Their beards were scraggly and patchy, and each of the three duergar wore only solid black scale mail and leather. As Talaith entered the chamber, the three duergar looked up, their cold blue eyes almost glowing in the light of the candle between them.

"Talaith Evnissien," the largest of the three said, his voice gravelly and curt. The gray dwarf took a step forward, his arms folded across his barrel chest but his hand resting close to the heavy hammer nestled in a loop on his belt.

"It is good to see you again, Tybalt," Talaith lied, smiling faintly as she spoke. Tybalt snorted derisively at the pleasantries.

"Let us not play games," the duergar stated tactlessly. "You are here for a reason."

"Matron Saffir has need of your talents," the priestess began, wishing Arywdd could have been sent for this task. Dealing with the duergar was not something Talaith enjoyed in the least, but for the moment it was necessary that a noble handle the negotiations. With Arwydd involved in negotiations with House Gwalchgwynn, Naomhin planning his raid on the Hen Wyneb caravan, and Fychan working his contacts in Llyfrdy-Lledreth, only Talaith had been available to meet with the miners below their house. At least Tybalt knew the drow language, Talaith thought, sparing her the need to communicate in the vulgar duergar tongue. The priestess paused for a moment as she considered the other two gray dwarves in the room. "Perhaps we may speak in private?"

One of the duergar rolled his eyes in disgust and left the small chamber through the same entrance Talaith had used. The other, gaunt and faintly tall, at least for a duergar, seemed not to even register the priestess' implied request.

"Rollo will remain with us," Tybalt said, noticing Talaith's meaningful glance to the emaciated duergar. "No doubt this is negotiation for something more than mere ore, and the Taskmaster should be privy."

Talaith hesitated a moment longer as she appraised the two gray dwarves. The Taskmaster was a title she was only vaguely familiar with; it was one of the appellations of Laduguer, the unfeeling, joyless god of the duergar. While Talaith did not see anything on Rollo's person to identify him as a priest, she knew that Tybalt was not a cleric of his god.

"Very well," Talaith relented, deciding not to push the issue. "How far do your mines extend to the southeast?"

"There is little ore to the southeast," Tybalt informed the priestess.

"Answer the question," Talaith pressed. The mine boss scratched his head as he turned back to a small map set under the candle sconce. Talaith glanced over to Rollo, who currently watched the priestess with his dead blue eyes. While she knew she had nothing to fear from a duergar cleric of their dour god, that lifeless stare unsettled her faintly.

"They extend only a thousand feet," Tybalt said, regaining Talaith's attention. "We have had no cause to mine there."

"You do now," Talaith said, disregarding Rollo as she moved to the table. She looked over the map for a moment, then finally pointed to a spot over a mile southeast of Evnissien's mines. "How quickly do you think you could tunnel here?"

Tybalt pondered the map for a long moment, no change of expression coming across the slightly disgusted mask that he perpetually wore.

"If we move all our resources to tunneling alone, it would still take quite some days," the mine boss finally replied. "And we will not be able to mine the ore that your house desires."

"That is of secondary concern, at the moment," Talaith stated as she considered the information. The priestess had already assumed they would lose much of their production, and, in fact, Talaith planned to use the sudden drop as a justification to buy more slaves. "The tunnel will come first. And we are willing to hire a hundred additional slaves to aid your duergar."

"What is this tunnel for?" Tybalt asked, looking up at the priestess. Talaith smirked faintly.

"For your duergar warriors," the priestess replied.

* * *

Everything was ready. Now all he needed was the caravan.

Naomhin had spent hours researching his ambush point and the Hen Wyneb caravan routes to House Caer Llion in preparation for the first strike against the rival house. The point he had chosen was a narrow street along the southeastern edge of Llyr, dominated by two story homes of beautifully sculpted stone towers and mushroom cottages, interspersed with small, crude huts for the occasional slaves kept by the artisan class of drow that lived in the area. While many drow merchants and craftsmen would likely see the battle that was about to take place, none would dare speak out about such an attack, nor would they be able to identify the plainly dressed drow that were about to strike the Hen Wyneb caravan. A half dozen of House Evnissien's most experienced soldiers had accompanied Naomhin and Cadwared on this assault, and the elderboy doubted that the Hen Wyneb guards would be ready for such a lethal strike team.

The caravan finally came into view. Naomhin, hidden closest to the incoming drow along the edge of one particularly beautiful miniature tower highlighted with points of green and blue aerie fire, withdrew even further into the shadows of the home, motioning to the drow behind him to signal the others. The elderboy's hands dropped to the hilts of his swords as he watched the unsuspecting caravan draw closer. There were ten drow and at least twenty slave porters, mostly orcs and bugbears that showed the clear signs of the many beatings visited upon them to maintain discipline in the march. Only one female was present among his enemies, but Naomhin could easily see the spider web embroidery on her robes that marked her as a priestess of Lolth. His first target chosen, Naomhin slowly began to draw his swords, eagerly awaiting the imminent battle.

The lead drow in the Hen Wyneb caravan was suddenly caught in an explosion of ice and frost, freezing the poor warrior before he even knew that he had activated a magical trap. Naomhin was moving almost before the guard had died, leaping from the shadows and rushing headlong for the stunned priestess. Cadwared appeared from his concealment on the other side of the caravan, his shadow taking on a life of its own and breaking off to attack another target. Two magic missiles slammed home into a guard next to Naomhin, but the elderboy ignored it as he swiftly gutted a surprised wizard in his path and found himself face to face with the Hen Wyneb priestess.

Although she had been surprised by the sudden assault, the female was already through her first spell when Naomhin reached her. The priestess screamed, impossibly loud, deafening the elderboy and nearly bowling him over with the force of the sonic blast. Ignoring the wave of pain shooting through his head and chest, Naomhin drove forward, his long sword tearing a deep gash through the priestess' chain mail and chest even as his short sword drove low, ripping into her waist and catching on the inside of her pelvis. The priestess' deafening scream was reduced to a gasp of agony as she slid off of her enemy's blades. Naomhin wasted no time watching the hateful glare in her eyes fade; there were still other guards, and slaves, to take care of. One had already reached Naomhin, but the guard, his sword drawn back to strike a heavy blow across the elderboy's back, never found his chance as Naomhin whirled and impaled the young drow to the hilt of his long sword. Naomhin's short sword flashed out even as the guard rushed onto his first blade, catching one of the orcish porters in the throat. Two more enemies fell as Naomhin withdrew his weapons, and the elderboy turned to see who else was left.

As quickly as it had begun, the battle was already over. Cadwared stood over the bodies of two Hen Wyneb guards, his short sword dripping blood and his shadow slowly returning to its place on the ground. His six other drow had moved in just as quickly, slaying the guards with ruthless precision and speed first, then turning on the panicked slaves with equal fury. One orc, dropping to his knees to beg for his life at the feet of the priestess in Naomhin's squad, barely managed a word before another of the raiders had plunged his spear through the ugly humanoid's back. A bugbear sprinted away into the darkness, trying desperately to disappear before the drow noticed him, but six poisoned darts hit the goblinoid creature in the back as it tried to scale a low fence.

"Flawless," Cadwared said, his face lit by a broad smile as joined Naomhin in the center of the destroyed caravan. "We took almost no time at all!"

"Take everything we can carry," Naomhin ordered, turning from Cadwared to the other drow. "And take your darts and any other weapons. No trace."


	7. Reaction

**VI**

"Who was it?"

"If anyone knows, they are not speaking," Banon said, pacing the chapel of House Hen Wyneb anxiously. Sitting on her throne just behind the jeweled obsidian spider altar, Matron Ceridwen was nearly in a rage as she looked over her assembled family. "What little we do know is that they were very well trained and coordinated."

"That shipment was going to House Caer Llion," Matron Ceridwen said, standing from her throne to appraise her daughter. "First a spy trying to infiltrate our ranks, and now this. We are going to war, and still none of you know who our enemy is!"

"Whoever it is has been very careful to conceal their tracks," Maddox said, taking a half step forward. Still dressed in the crimson and black robes of an instructor of Llyfrdy-Lledreth, the short, unassuming wizard had rushed home to answer his mother's hasty summons, and was still slightly at a loss for the entire situation. Matron Ceridwen turned on him as he spoke, her anger growing rapidly.

"You are one of the most prized wizards in the academy!" the matron bellowed. "And yet you cannot use your magic to discover one single clue as to our enemies!"

"Matron mother, we will scour the district where the attack took place," Daere interjected quickly, coming to her brother's aid. Bradwr, standing silently to the rear of the assembled family, had always noticed a strange connection between those two siblings, possibly from their common father. Another problem in removing Maddox, he thought. "Someone in that area must know who it was that attacked us! Between Maddox's arcane magic and my clerical spells, we will find out who it was!"

"Then go," matron Ceridwen said, checking her anger with the greatest of effort. "Do not waste any more time here. Every second we delay leaves us vulnerable to a more damaging assault."

"As you wish, mistress," Daere said. She motioned quickly to Maddox, and the two of them hastily exited the chapel. For a long moment the chamber fell silent as Ceridwen looked over the rest of her family. Banon had stopped pacing, but the anxious look on her face told Bradwr that she was truly concerned with the situation. Llawr remained quiet at his position a step behind the matron's throne, his face emotionless. Tarren, Ceridwen's youngest child, seemed ready to bolt at a moment's notice if her past failure at weeding out a spy in the market was brought against her.

"None of you have seen anything," Matron Ceridwen began, examining each of her children in turn. "No one has attempted anything against you. No one has been following you. None of you have seen anything amiss in the markets, or among the other houses."

"No, mistress," Banon said with a hint of guilt.

"Only the spy, mistress," Tarren added nervously. Ceridwen turned to Bradwr. The secondboy thought for a moment, considering his meeting the previous day with Fychan Evnissien. Could it have been mere coincidence?

"Nothing, mistress," Bradwr said, looking down and shaking his head. Ceridwen glared at her younger son for a long moment. Bradwr remained silent, praying that she did not see anything in his eyes or face that gave away his intentions. If House Evnissien did turn out to be responsible for both the spy and the caravan attack, the secondboy would turn his knowledge in at a later date, but for the moment, Bradwr needed Fychan to remove Maddox.

"Banon," Matron Ceridwen said, turning away from Bradwr. The secondboy felt a wave of relief wash over him. "Go to House Caer Llion. Tell them that we will replace what was lost. We cannot afford to lose Matron Vala's favor at this time."

"Yes, mistress," Banon said, bowing. The eldest daughter left swiftly, leaving only Llawr, Bradwr, and Tarren with the matron mother. Ceridwen ignored her patron completely as she inspected her two youngest children.

"The two of you have allies and contacts," the matron mother assumed. Bradwr and Tarren both nodded quickly. "Then use them. Find the threat to our house, before we are destroyed."

"Yes mistress," both siblings replied at the same time, fearful of what their mother would do to them if they failed. As Bradwr left the chapel, however, he found his fear rapidly fading into relief that the matron mother had not discovered his possible alliance to deal with Maddox. It would be risky, especially if House Evnissien was their enemy, but the secondboy had a feeling he could use the alliance to gain even greater standing in his own house.

* * *

"I heard House Hen Wyneb had a most unfortunate accident."

"As did I," Arwydd said, walking easily through the narrow alleys of the Central Market with Pryderi at her side. Once again, neither the priestess nor the wizard wore the identifying marks of their respective houses as they wandered the streets, hoping to avoid notice as they listened for news about the repercussions of Naomhin's successful raid. "I heard they lost a shipment headed to House Caer Llion."

"Yes, I think that was it," Pryderi said, a faint note of concern in his voice. Arwydd picked up on it easily, and turned to House Gwalchgwynn's elderboy.

"Something's troubling you," the priestess concluded. Pryderi smiled slightly.

"Not me, but Matron Morfyl," the wizard corrected. "She worries that such a slight to House Caer Llion could draw them into the battle."

"They would turn on Evnissien, not Gwalchgwynn," Arwydd said. Pryderi simply chuckled at the statement.

"I expected a better ploy from you," the wizard said. "Once they find we have joined you, we will become just as much a target."

"Pryderi, you worry too much," Arwydd said, turning a warm smile to the wizard next to her as she stopped in the center of the street. The priestess knew that she needed to keep the alliance alive; no matter what Gwalchgwynn could offer in the coming war, House Evnissien needed every soldier and every gold coin they could scrape out of their alliances. "How much can Caer Llion afford to waste resources on a trifling matter between lower houses? They have to worry about House Siryddion, after all. Haven't you heard the rumors?"

"What rumors?" Pryderi inquired. Arwydd giggled slightly at the elderboy's apparent ignorance, even though she was just creating the "rumors" on the spot.

"Well, I happened to hear the other day, when you were supposed to have met with me, that House Siryddion had snapped up the contracts of a half dozen wizards and almost twice as many fighters," Arwydd lied smoothly. Although she refused to admit it to herself, she was still disappointed, and slightly upset, that the wizard had not shown up to deliver the news of his house's aid personally almost a week earlier at the tavern. "House Caer Llion will be far too busy watching their own backs to assist Hen Wyneb."

"You must have quite the spy network to have discovered that," Pryderi said with a laugh. Arwydd allowed herself a faint smile, uncertain if Pryderi had actually believed her deception. "So, what would mighty House Evnissien have of my meager family?"

"What more could I desire than your charming company?" Arwydd inquired coyly, her smile growing more confident. Pryderi grinned at the remark.

"Truly, mistress," the wizard pressed.

"We will need money, for arms, for mercenary contracts, and for… other services," Arwydd explained. Pryderi nodded, his expression telling Arwydd that he had expected just such a request.

"How fortunate for me that I was on my way to do a bit of shopping myself," the wizard said, taking a small, black velvet pouch from his loose robes. Pryderi held it out to the priestess. "It is yours, mistress. I think you shall find this an acceptable beginning to our alliance."

Arwydd took the pouch from the wizard slowly, opening the drawstrings as her eyes shifted from Pryderi to the tiny bag. Just inside, the priestess could make out the dull, bloody sparkle of rubies. If Arwydd was correct, the stones could easily pay for over a dozen soldiers.

"And one more for you, mistress," Pryderi added, producing a glittering pendant from his sleeve. Arwydd gasped as she turned to the new gift. The wizard held in his hand a thin silver chain to which a brilliant white opal, sparkling with motes of blue and purple, was attached. "This one is a more… personal gift," Pryderi said as Arwydd managed to tear her stunned gaze from the opal and meet his eyes again.

"It… it's beautiful," the priestess breathed out. Without even considering the consequences of accepting such a gift from a rival house, and from a wizard no less, Arwydd swept her hair back and allowed Pryderi to fasten the clasp around her neck.

"I think House Evnissien will find their alliance with my family to be most worthwhile," the wizard said with a smile. He cast a meaningful glance to the pendant now resting on Arwydd's chest. "These are but the first of many gifts we bestow upon our allies."

"I… House Evnissien thanks you," Arwydd said, trying not to stumble over the words as she spoke them. Quickly the priestess recovered her stoic, faintly amused demeanor, cursing herself for a moment of such carelessness. Even now she absently fingered the chain around her neck, hoping that it was not some devious Gwalchgwynn trick that she had been stupid enough to fall into. Looking into Pryderi's eyes again gave no clue if the gift was genuine or a trap. Pryderi simply smiled as he returned her gaze, probably already priding himself on his capture of the priestess, be it malevolent or benign.

"As long as Caer Llion remains safely away from the battle," the wizard said, "House Gwalchgwynn will take care of its friends."

* * *

The street was silent as they entered it. No traces remained of the battle that had taken place the previous day, except for a few blood stains that were barely visible even to close examination. The houses on either side of the street where the Hen Wyneb caravan had fallen were silent and still, but Daere could feel the tense gazes of the inhabitants upon her as she stood in the middle of the street. Maddox stood directly behind her, likely scanning the ground for any trace of evidence that the raiders might have left behind, while beyond him, fourteen Hen Wyneb soldiers, twelve fighters and two priestesses, stood ready to carry out the noble daughter's orders. Daere considered the houses to either side of her for a long moment, then finally turned back to her subordinates.

"Bring them out," the priestess said quietly. Her soldiers sprang into action, moving up and down the street quickly, dragging out the drow that lived in the houses where the attack had taken place. In a matter of minutes over two dozen commoners had been brought before the priestess, kneeling in fear on the street while the Hen Wyneb soldiers stood behind them with drawn weapons. The priestess whispered a prayer to Lolth, asking for the ability to tell truth from lies, before walking along the line of commoners. Each one she fixed with an icy, disgusted stare, until she came to a stop in front of one particularly young, frightened boy. For a long moment she simply stood over him, anger simmering in her scarlet eyes as she regarded him for a long moment.

"There's no reason to be afraid, as long as you answer my questions," Daere said, lifting the young boy's chin and forcing him to meet her gaze.

"Anything, mistress," the boy said quickly. "Ask me anything."

"Yesterday, a caravan from my house was attacked and killed here," Daere said. "You were here yesterday, weren't you? When it happened?"

"Y-yes, mistress," the boy replied.

"Who were they?" Daere asked. The boy paused for a long moment, his eyes widening in terror.

"They… I don't know," the boy answered. "They wore only black cloaks. They wore nothing to identify them, I swear!"

Daere considered the boy for a moment. He was not lying; her spell told her that much. Slowly the priestess turned away from him, hearing a faint, almost inaudible sigh of relief from her first witness.

Daere spun back on her heel with blinding speed, drawing her snake headed whip and striking before the boy had even registered her sudden move. The four heads of her whip bit deep into his flesh, eliciting a quick scream of pain as his face was ripped apart by the fangs. The priestess continued to flog the boy until he had fallen to the ground, his pleas for mercy growing weaker until they finally faded into a last, wheezing gasp for breath. Daere continued to flay the boy's corpse until his skin hung from his body in bloody tatters and his face had been ripped into an unrecognizable mask of blood and bone. Panting for breath, with sweat and stray drops of blood on her face, the priestess turned back to the rest of the commoners, their eyes showing their rising fear at what might happen to them if they did not answer to the noble's liking. Daere took a moment to compose herself after her vicious beating, but did not replace her whip on her belt.

"I'm certain one of you was more attentive," she said, advancing along the line once again. The snakes of her whip writhed and snapped at the commoners closest to it as she walked. "I want to know who attacked the caravan. Someone saw who it was. Someone here knows something."

"You," Maddox said suddenly from behind the priestess. Daere turned as the wizard pointed to an old female. Two soldiers rushed quickly behind her and grabbed her arms, pulling her roughly to her feet as the priestess returned to the new witness. The commoner was nearly shaking as the two soldiers held her, her eyes darting between Daere and Maddox as the priestess stopped in front of her. "I think you know something. My sister would like to know what it is that you saw."

"I… I saw nothing!" the old woman answered quickly. Daere could feel the faint shift in her aura. "Nothing at all!"

"You're lying," Daere said. Maddox spun the old woman to face his sister. "You of all people should know better than to try to deceive a priestess of Lolth!"

"They… one had silver hair!" the old woman blurted out. "Another, his shadow fought alongside him! But they wore no _piwafwi_, and bore no house markings!"

"A noble, and a shadowdancer," Maddox concluded from the old woman's brief description. Daere looked to her brother.

"What house has a shadowdancer?" she asked. "They are not common, are they?"

"There are relatively few," Maddox said. "And fewer still in the employ of noble houses. But the only one I know of is in the employ of House Blodyn-tywell."

"The seventh house?" Daere said. "But they would have no reason to attack us!"

"That was it? One noble and a shadowdancer?" Maddox asked harshly, shaking the old woman. "You saw nothing else?"

"Nothing! Nothing, I swear!" the old woman promised. This time, she was telling the truth.

"Very well," Daere said. "Thank you."

The old woman dropped to her knees, relief flooding her features. Daere nodded to her brother. Maddox gestured to one of the Hen Wyneb soldiers.

"Execute her," the wizard said simply.

* * *

Drǎgǎşani was little more than a trader's camp, situated in a winding series of narrow tunnels only twenty feet or so above the ceiling of the cavern that housed Llyr. Few drow traveled to this place, for the trading camp was home to the troglodytes, a foul smelling, reptilian race that found little place other than as slaves in the minds of most drow. Still, Drǎgǎşani was of some use to the drow, as the lizards were more than willing to buy anything from the dark elves that were bold enough to enter the labyrinthine caves of their trading camp without asking any questions concerning the merchandise's origins.

It was in these dank passages that Bradwr had made one of his most unorthodox contacts. As the secondboy of House Hen Wyneb made his way through the passages, the troglodytes quickly moved out of his way, showing the noble respect even outside of Llyr's limits. The reptilians knew exactly why they still existed, and no troglodyte would attack a drow for fear of earning the wrath of the dark elves. Bradwr still kept one hand near the pommel of his sword as he made his way into one particularly dark tunnel; no troglodyte would attack him, but Bradwr was well aware of the fact that any drow working against his house would be more than willing to strike him down.

Bradwr rounded a corner and into a faintly lit cave, illuminated by elegantly wound iron torches sporting balls of dark blue faerie fire. Many troglodytes would shun even this dim light, but it was necessary for the business transactions between the drow and the troglodytes. Five troglodytes were currently standing in the center of the chamber, arguing vehemently with a pair of duergar. As Bradwr entered, the heated debate stopped instantly, and all eyes turned to the drow.

"I'm not interrupting, am I?" Bradwr inquired, injecting a hint of humor into his voice. Although the troglodyte language contained many sounds not easily reproduced by a drow tongue, Bradwr had spent a long time learning the dialect after all of his interactions with the lizards. It helped him not only know when he was being duped by the conniving merchants, but also to keep his own affairs secret from any other drow or duergar that may travel to Drǎgǎşani.

"Not at all," one of the troglodytes responded quickly, a toothy grin coming to his large mouth. The lizard broke away from his group to join the drow, just as the duergar renewed their argument. "What have you to sell me?" the troglodyte inquired. Bradwr was not tall, but the troglodyte stood just under five feet in height, wearing nothing but a leather belt from which a pair of kobold skulls and a large leather pouch hung. In darkvision or normal, the troglodyte's skin seemed to blend into the rock walls around him.

"I actually have come looking for something that may have been sold, Dumitriu," Bradwr explained, following the trader as he left the cave and the duergar argument behind. Bradwr cast a quick glance back into the tunnel.

"They are arguing over kobold slaves," Dumitriu informed the drow. "Perhaps your house would pay better for our recent prizes than those idiot miners."

"It is possible," Bradwr said. If there was to be an imminent attack on House Hen Wyneb, swelling the slave ranks with the cheap, expendable kobolds might not be such a bad idea. "But let us leave that for another time. I want to know if other drow have come here selling a shipment of food from my house."

"Drow come and go here often, these days," Dumitriu said. "And I am not the only merchant in all of Drǎgǎşani."

"But you do know what goes on in this place," Bradwr countered. "You are one of the most important troglodytes in this camp."

"Not much is needed to be important here," Dumitriu said. Bradwr inhaled deeply for a moment, stopping in the tunnel. Dumitriu turned back to him as he stopped.

"You know I can pay," the noble pointed out.

"I know," Dumitriu confirmed. For a moment the two stood in silence. Shaking his head in disgust, Bradwr removed a small purse from inside his _piwafwi_ and tossed it to the troglodyte. Dumitriu caught it easily and quickly opened the drawstrings.

"Is that enough?" Bradwr asked. Dumitriu's smile returned.

"For what little good it will do you, yes," the trader replied. "Just yesterday your stolen shipment was brought here. It is already en route to Balasa."

"The shipment is of secondary concern," Bradwr said. Dumitriu nodded, expecting as much.

"They wore no insignia, nothing to identify them," the trader said. "If I had known to look for house affiliations, I would have been more attentive."

"Of course, of course," Bradwr grumbled. "You know nothing of these drow?"

"None of them seemed to be nobles," Dumitriu said. "None had silver hair or wore your style of cloak."

"I see," Bradwr said. He paused for a moment, considering his next line of questions. "Do you know anything of House Evnissien? The seventeenth house."

"Evnissien? No, I don't think I've heard anything about them," Dumitriu answered. "Why? Do you suspect them?"

"Very much so," Bradwr answered. "Keep your eyes open, and there will be more money for you. And, if possible, we may want both your slave kobolds, and any of your troglodyte fighters that you can spare in the near future."

"Ah, it is to be war, then," Dumitriu said, a grin coming to his reptilian face. The blatant remark stopped Bradwr in his tracks.

"Don't speak of this conversation," Bradwr warned sternly. Then he turned and started to make his way out of Drǎgǎşani.

* * *

It was no great surprise to Banon Hen Wyneb that Matron Vala of House Caer Llion was waiting for her as she reached the ornate gates of the second house of Llyr. By now there were many rumors in the streets of the noble districts and even the Central Market regarding the attack on Hen Wyneb's caravan. Those rumors concerned Banon as much as the attack itself, as they spoke of vague alliances and a possible move by House Brenin Llywd to safeguard themselves from Matron Ceridwen's machinations with a preemptive strike. In order for House Hen Wyneb to survive the whispered threats of war with an alliance of houses, Hen Wyneb desperately needed Caer Llion's help.

Banon paused a moment at the gate while the well armed and well trained guards of Caer Llion's majestic, spider web gates sent a summons into the virtual forest of onion bulb towers and delicate cottages that grew out of the groves of tall, thin mushrooms and faintly glowing mosses. A deep reflecting pool in the center of the enormous compound seemed to glow blue and green from the lights of the faerie fire towers and statues, creating a darkly magnificent home. The scale and architecture of Caer Llion was enough to make Hen Wyneb look drab and ordinary by comparison, once again fueling Banon's desire for power and influence. The daughter of Hen Wyneb was forced to put those musings aside, however, as a priestess of Lolth approached, clad in light chain mail and a black _piwafwi_ marked with the ten pointed, midnight blue star of House Caer Llion.

"Matron Vala will see you now," the priestess said. Banon fell into step behind the priestess, feeling faintly uneasy as a half dozen soldiers formed up around her. Banon was led to the largest of the towers, just beyond the reflecting pool, and ushered in through the double doors of engraved steel at the base of the column. Inside, as Banon remembered, there was no staircase, but the noble easily levitated up the thirty feet to the main chapel of House Caer Llion.

Easily large enough to accommodate nine hundred dark elves, the chapel of Caer Llion was an architectural masterpiece. Twisting pillars of obsidian were adorned with grinning, demonic gargoyles at their tops, while the inky basalt floor had been embedded with long strands of silver, turning it into an enormous spider's web. The altar at the center of the chapel was a rearing spider, carved from a single block of marble, with eight amethyst eyes that fiercely glowed with violet faerie fire. The silver strands of the web itself seemed to glow faintly, providing ample light for all to see in the normal spectrum of colors. One the far end of the wall was a statue of Lolth herself, the six armed, beautiful drow female with ruby eyes and diamond studded, platinum blades in each hand. Banon could spare no time to admire the chapel as she had so often in the past, however, as she knelt just inside the door and waited for Matron Vala Caer Llion, seated in the plush throne of black velvet, silver, and sapphire, to greet her.

"Welcome back, Banon Hen Wyneb," Vala said, standing from her throne and gracefully gliding across the floor to meet her guest. Vala still moved with great dignity, but lines of age had begun to form on her once beautiful face, and time had taken its toll on the once fair drow matron's visible body. Vala's crimson eyes, however, still held a fierce glow of determination, a sign of her formidable power. "You have come to apologize for the loss of your caravan."

"I have," Banon confirmed. "And House Hen Wyneb will replace everything that was lost in the assault."

"I assumed as much," Matron Vala said, a faintly condescending note to her voice. "After all, a house should be able to secure its own trade routes."

Banon swallowed her pride at the remark, forcing herself to concentrate on the matter at hand.

"Have you heard the rumors regarding the assault?" the younger priestess inquired.

"Rumors of Brenin Llywd," Vala remarked in an offhand tone.

"That is what we believe," Banon said. "They are trying to weaken us. They rightly fear us. The time will come soon for Matron Eirian to be replaced by her betters."

"You are confident," Vala said, turning back to the altar. Banon followed a step behind as the matron mother made her way back to the spider. "And your house has aided us in the past. Hen Wyneb has been a most beneficial ally against House Siryddion."

"It is our honor to aid a house as mighty as Caer Llion," Banon said, "but it is now an alliance of houses that may stand against us. Although she did not desire to ask assistance of you in the past, now Matron Ceridwen is in need of your help."

"I know," Matron Vala said, turning back to Banon as she reached the altar. "And I have given your situation, and this raid, much thought."

"It is not much we ask," Banon said, praying that Vala would come around easily. "Money for mercenary contracts. Maybe a few soldiers, if you can spare them. And information especially, if you know who it is that plots against us."

"To hold Siryddion at bay, we must keep our alliance with you," Vala said. "But it goes beyond that. Whoever attacked your caravan did it as a message to me, as well as to weaken you. And I will not tolerate insults against the second house of Llyr from some upstart matron like Eirian. No, Banon, your family will not fall. House Caer Llion will not allow it."

"Thank you, Matron Vala," Banon said. Although she tried to remain emotionless, she could feel a flood of relief wash over her. Matron Vala had over seven hundred soldiers at her beck and call, and even a tiny fraction of Caer Llion's powerful army would give any house cause to hesitate in their movement against Hen Wyneb. Matron Vala took a pouch from the folds of her heavy robes, holding it out to Banon. Carefully the noble daughter took the pouch and glanced into it. Inside, several sapphires, sculpted into perfect octagons by the master gem cutters of Caer Llion, sparkled in the faerie fire lights.

"That will help you procure more mercenary contracts," the matron said. "In three days I will send twenty-five soldiers to your compound. They will wear their house emblem openly. Your enemies will have no doubt as to who aids Hen Wyneb."


	8. Final Preparations

**VII**

A summons such as this was rarely a good thing.

Arwydd made her way hastily through the gardens of House Evnissien, her mind far from the mushrooms and fountain as she desperately tried to think of anything she could have done that would have upset Matron Saffir. It had been barely an hour since she had left the house, on her way to the Central Market to purchase new soldiers with the money Pryderi had provided only a day earlier. The magical summons had almost bowled the diminutive priestess over at the northern end of the Central Market, such was the power of Matron Saffir's urgency, and Arwydd had nearly bolted back to her compound with the thought that perhaps Hen Wyneb had discovered their plotting and turned an attack against them. But with the immediate threat of an assault ruled out, the second daughter began to worry that Saffir's often brutal rage was turning on her.

As she passed the grotto on her way to the far tower, Arwydd's hand went to the opal pendant around her neck. Had her mother noticed Pryderi's gift to her? Even worse, had she detected something more than the minor dweomer of protection that Arwydd herself had discovered the previous night, when her suspicions of her ally's generosity had prompted her to cast a detect magic spell on the pendant? Belatedly the young priestess thought of removing the pendant, at least until her meeting with Matron Saffir was over, but as she reached the base of the rear tower, she found herself flanked by four guards as well as Rhonwen, Talaith's personal handmaiden. The burly commoner priestess was as devoted to Talaith and Matron Saffir as she was to Lolth, and a sudden decision by Arwydd to remove the pendant now would no doubt raise Rhonwen's suspicions.

"Thank Lolth you have arrived," Rhonwen said as Arwydd met her at the base of the pillar. "You are the last to arrive."

"Last to arrive?" Arwydd repeated. At the very least, she thought, the matron's anger was not directed at her alone. Fychan's continuous smirk and his desire to push the limits of his station would no doubt shield Arwydd from some of Matron Saffir's rage. "What is going on?"

"Let us go to the chapel," Rhonwen said, casting a glance at the commoner soldiers around them. Arwydd studied the handmaiden for a moment, but for once the smug smile Rhonwen often wore when dealing privately with Saffir's second daughter was conspicuously absent. Still, almost without waiting for the noble, Rhonwen began her ascent to the door set over their heads. That simple act returned some hint of Arwydd's jealous hatred of Rhonwen to the surface; Rhonwen was no noble, but Matron Saffir had given the commoner boots that could levitate her just as if she were one of the matron's own daughters. The boots were just one of many gifts that Arwydd's mother and sister lavished upon the devoted handmaiden, and Rhonwen had received everything from gold coins to Naomhin himself, for a brief time at any rate, to ensure her overzealous loyalty to Saffir and Talaith. Many times, it seemed to Arwydd that Rhonwen had become the second daughter of House Evnissien, and Arwydd had become the commoner priestess.

Arwydd pushed those thoughts out of her mind and focused on the problems at hand. The priestess levitated up after Rhonwen, and followed the commoner through the dark hallway to the chapel. Two guards, both priestesses, stood at the base of the spiral steps. Without a word from Arwydd or Rhonwen they stepped aside, allowing the pair up into the chapel.

The rest of the family was, as Rhonwen had stated, already inside the chapel. Matron Saffir presided from her throne, waiting impatiently for her last daughter to arrive. Talaith, dressed for battle in her chain mail, stood at the far edge of the altar, while Naomhin and Fychan both stood in front of the carved spider. Hetwn had taken his place just behind Saffir, and even Athruis, the silent, lethal weaponmaster of House Evnissien, had been summoned to the chapel.

"Arwydd, at last," Matron Saffir said, standing from her throne as her younger daughter appeared. "Have you heard anything at all from House Gwalchgwynn yet?"

"No," Arwydd answered, confused. "Why?"

"House Caer Llion is about to commit twenty-five soldiers, and possibly other resources, to Hen Wyneb's defense," Talaith answered, speaking before the matron could open her mouth. Arwydd kept her face emotionless, but the implications of the simple statement already had her mind spinning. If House Gwalchgwynn heard of Caer Llion's assistance, they would, by Pryderi's statements the previous day, back out of their alliance. And while Brenin Llywd still had made no indication of their intentions with the second house joining the fray, all of House Evnissien's nobility feared the worst. Their alliance with the other two houses was tenuous at best.

"What are we to do, then?" Arwydd asked. While she was justifiably concerned that her house would not be able to oust Hen Wyneb and raise their own rank, part of her mind was incomprehensively stuck on the fact that she may not see Pryderi for quite some time if their alliance was to fail. The younger daughter shoved those last thoughts from her mind quickly, but fortunately, if anyone had noticed her worries, they attributed it to the possibility of aborting the attack.

"We must do something to prove that we can still win, regardless of Hen Wyneb's alliance," Saffir said, pacing in front of her throne. "Something that will show our strength."

"Perhaps House Siryddion can aid us against Caer Llion," Naomhin suggested. Saffir shook her head. "After all, if we weaken Caer Llion, they benefit."

"They would prefer to allow Caer Llion to commit troops away from their house," the matron mother said. "And if twenty-five Caer Llion soldiers die defending Hen Wyneb, then they benefit anyway."

"Then we'll destroy twenty-five Caer Llion soldiers before they even reach the gates of Hen Wyneb," Athruis said quietly. All eyes turned to the short, stocky weaponmaster. Athruis' crimson eyes went from one drow to the next. "We know where Caer Llion is, and there are only a certain number of routes that they can take to reach Hen Wyneb. Destroy them. Send a message to Caer Llion that it will cost them dearly to maintain their alliance with the fifteenth house. They will back out soon enough."

Saffir remained silent for a long moment, considering the weaponmaster's plan.

"Twenty-five of Caer Llion's soldiers will be difficult to best," Fychan observed. "Especially if they opt to send wizards or priestesses."

"And they most likely will," Talaith added.

"They will send a strong force to avoid a conflict," Arwydd concluded. Naomhin nodded in agreement. "If that force never so much as reaches Hen Wyneb, their plan will backfire dreadfully."

"The problem lies in stopping them," Talaith said. "And if we reveal our identity during the battle, Hen Wyneb will know who is plotting against them."

"It's a risk we have to take," Naomhin decided. Talaith turned a furious glare on her brother, but Matron Saffir spoke first.

"Do it," their mother said. She turned to Athruis. "And you will aid him, Athruis. This strike must be swift, deadly, and most of all, anonymous. Make Caer Llion realize the price of their alliance with a doomed house."

"As you wish, mistress," Athruis said, bowing slightly to the matron. Naomhin added a bow of his own. The two males started quickly to the chapel stairs.

"Talaith, a priestess should oversee this assault," Matron Saffir said. Talaith nodded, although she seemed faintly nervous about taking on Caer Llion's soldiers. She and Rhonwen moved to follow the house's warriors. "And you, Fychan," Saffir added.

"As it pleases, mistress," Fychan said, bowing slightly. The wizard turned with a smirk on his face, more than willing to join the others. Arwydd watched her brother go for a long moment; Fychan's smirk was not pure eagerness to test his skills against any mages that might have been included in the second house's force.

"Arwydd," Matron Saffir said sternly. The younger daughter turned quickly, trying to keep any hint of nerves from her face.

"Yes, mistress," she said. She felt her hand start to move unconsciously to cover Pryderi's gift, and forced her arms back to her sides.

"You have grown quite close with the elderboy of Gwalchgwynn," the matron noted.

"Only to ensure his house's loyalty," Arwydd replied, keeping her tone even. Saffir's eyes narrowed slightly, her gaze fixed firmly on the silver chain hanging around her neck.

"Good," the matron decided. "Ensure that he is implicated in our raid. Force Gwalchgwynn into our alliance."

"As it pleases, mistress," Arwydd said, using her brother's words in the hopes of echoing Fychan's smug attitude. In her mind, though, the priestess knew that the task would bring her no pleasure, except maybe to see Pryderi once more.

* * *

"She will not be pleased."

"There was nothing more to discover," Daere said, though she shared her brother's anxiety at facing Matron Ceridwen without any definite evidence as to their attackers. The old woman's description of a shadowdancer was barely enough to pin down a house; the elusive masters of the shadows, rare as they were throughout Llyr, could be found in the employ of any house that was willing to pay a steep price for their talents. The Shadow Guild could be found throughout the markets and merchant districts of Llyr, impossible to observe effectively both because of their shifting locations and the skills of their members. Daere sighed as she waited for the matron to admit them to the chapel. "Divination and scrying showed nothing. The witnesses knew nothing, or they would have talked."

"In the future, I think I shall try to gain more informants in that section of the city," Maddox said quietly, looking up at the faerie fire spiders that continuously scuttled across the engraved ceiling of the chapel's foyer. "It may cost some money, but we would do well to keep spies along our trade routes."

"An epiphany I wish you would have had weeks ago," Daere said, though her voice lacked its characteristic stern tone. Of all the members of her house, Daere felt she could trust Maddox, insofar as she could trust anyone; they had been born within a decade of each other and had always shared a sort of unspoken bond that they would help each other further their ambitions or guard against the other members of the house. Maddox simply nodded his agreement with the priestess' observation, and for the next minute the two of them stood in silence in the foyer. The doors in front of the pair finally opened, and the two nobles stepped into the chapel to make their report.

Matron Ceridwen stood behind the central altar, angrily watching Bradwr as the secondboy made his way quickly out of the chapel. Daere suppressed a shudder as she saw her younger brother rushing away; the matron had already been primed with bad news. Hopefully she would see how difficult it was to track a house that had taken no open actions against them yet.

"I hope the two of you bring better news than your incompetent brother," Ceridwen said angrily, turning on the pair as they entered. Daere hesitated for a long moment, glancing to Maddox as the wizard dropped his eyes to the ground.

"They… they were very well organized, mistress," Maddox began, thankfully taking the matron mother's ire away from Daere for the moment. "They bore no house insignia and left nothing behind, neither witnesses nor magical evidence. But I am certain that it was another noble house behind the attack."

"This is not useful information," Matron Ceridwen growled, rounding the altar. Her whip began to squirm on her belt, anticipating the taste of Maddox's flesh. "We already suspected a noble house."

"This raid was led by a drow with silver hair," Maddox added quickly. Ceridwen unhooked her whip, letting the snake heads stretch to full length for a strike. "And it also included a shadowdancer!"

The matron's hand stopped just before she lifted the whip.

"A shadowdancer?" she repeated. Maddox nodded quickly.

"Mistress, we need only find which house employs a shadowdancer to find our enemy," Daere put in, coming to her brother's aid. "Only House Blodyn-tywell employs one that we know of, and they would have no reason to strike against us! It will only be a matter of days before we find out which house has a shadowdancer!"

"You are certain?" Matron Ceridwen asked, turning to her second daughter.

"Positive," Daere replied. Matron Ceridwen nodded. Her whip reluctantly grew still as she replaced it on her belt.

"Then go," the matron ordered. "Find our enemy."

* * *

The money could not have come at a better time.

Hetwn glanced down to the pouch on his belt as he picked his way through the crowd of drow at the Merchant's Fortune, one of the largest, and completely enclosed, taverns in the Central Market of Llyr. The common room was large by any standard, able to hold at least a hundred patrons inside its stalagmite walls, and even spells to help muffle the noisy crowd could not silence the loud conversations of the packed common room. There were over two dozen tables set inside the tavern, but rarely could a table be found that did not already have an occupant. In fact, most times it was difficult to even find one's way through the crowd to the bar, and as Hetwn negotiated his way through the throngs, he realized that even for the Merchant's Fortune, he had hit a busy evening.

The patron of House Evnissien had never much cared for the Merchant's Fortune. Drow dealings should have been handled in quiet, out of the way places, not this tavern's raucous, crowded atmosphere. Young nobles came here to show off their riches or engage in anonymous trysts with artisans or even mere commoners. The same rooms that were used for these sensual meetings, however, were used for other dealings as well, and only the most foolish matron mother kept no spies in the Merchant's Fortune. Hetwn made his way through the mass of drow, carefully sliding past the gambling tables and around a particularly large entourage from one of the ruling houses, until he finally found his way to the bar. Behind the stone and mushroom counter, a single drow male, plain and growing old, did his best to keep up with the demands of his customers. As Hetwn reached the bar, the barkeep slid a pair of small glasses across the counter to his last customers and turned to the wizard.

"What do you want?" the barkeep inquired quickly.

"Wine, bloody," Hetwn said quietly. The barkeep nodded, and turned to the shelves behind him. When he returned to the counter, he simply dropped a key on the table. Hetwn picked up the key and started back through the crowd, making his way to e second floor and stopping at the first door in the narrow hallway above the common room. After only a slight hesitation, Hetwn put the key in the lock and carefully opened the door.

The rooms of the Merchant's Fortune were made simply for pleasure, not extended accommodations. A single bed, with a deep, soft mattress and silk sheets, was the only true luxury in the room. Other than the bed, a single stone table, barely large enough for two people, was set against the far wall, flanked by a pair of uncomfortable metal chairs. No light was present in the room, but Hetwn could easily see the four occupants with his darkvision. One was a petite female, shrouded in a loose silken dress as she lay on the bed idly tracing patterns on the sheets with one delicate finger. The other two drow were males, warriors or assassins by their light leather armor and the short swords and daggers they carried, sitting at the table and playing a game of cards. The final occupant of the room was not even drow; curled up on the floor next to the bed was an enormous, coal black hound, its glowing red eyes locking onto Hetwn as the wizard entered the room.

"Easy, Nye," the female said, casually leaning over the side of the bed and stroking the hell hound's head. A faint trace of fire appeared at the canine's mouth for an instant, but the hell hound reluctantly obeyed its mistress.

"It's a house patron, I assume," one of the males said, looking up from the table. The other nodded.

"Not of a ruling house, however," the other male observed.

"And one that will not wear his house _piwafwi_," the first one commented. "Is your pride of family that little?"

"This meeting called for some privacy," Hetwn said, measuring each of three drow as he spoke. He had dealt with this small band of assassins before; the two males, Arcol and Rhodri, were skilled fighters, while the female, Siana, had some talent with magic. "I would like to hire you again."

"Ah, a business proposition," Arcol said, standing from the table. Arcol was not big for a drow, but his wiry frame was deceptively strong. The oldest of the three, Arcol seemed to be the unspoken leader of the tiny mercenary group. "What is it you would have us do, Patron Hetwn?"

"Kill a noble daughter," Hetwn replied simply. Arcol's smile slipped faintly. "Unless, of course, you don't think yourselves capable of such a task…"

"We are," Rhodri put in quickly, before Arcol could say anything. Hetwn had assumed that questioning their skill would raise Rhodri's ire; the three were hardly famous in Llyr, and despite their bold claims to the contrary, were struggling to build a reputation as well as their company. Rhodri was the youngest, strongest, and quickest to anger of the three, but even as he spoke Rhodri's crimson eyes showed a faint note of anxiety. Few people brashly entered a contract to kill a noble of any house. "We just… expect to be paid in line with the level of the task," the mercenary continued, giving himself an out if the task should actually prove beyond their abilities.

"Which noble daughter would we have to kill?" Siana asked, sitting up on the edge of the bed. Hetwn turned to the female.

"You know of the fifteenth house? Hen Wyneb?" Hetwn inquired. Arcol nodded. "Good. Their third daughter, Tarren, is buying up mercenary contracts in the Central Market. I want her removed."

"The third daughter," Arcol said, pondering the matter.

"Not even a high priestess yet," Hetwn added with a smirk. "Likely traveling with a small entourage as she buys contracts. Maybe a wizard, but I'm certain it's nothing beyond your talents."

Arcol glanced over to Siana for a long moment. If the two were communicating, it must have been in a way that Hetwn could not discern, but after a moment Arcol turned back to the patron.

"What is our compensation?" the warrior inquired. Hetwn pulled the pouch from his belt and held it out to the leader. Arcol took it hesitantly, carefully loosening the drawstrings. Siana stood from the bed and walked to his side, lighting a globe of soft white faerie fire in her hand to see the contents.

"I assume that will be enough?" the patron said. Arcol remained quiet as he looked into the pouch, but Siana could not hide a look of surprise. The platinum coins inside, a gift newly arrived from Brenin Llywd, jingled slightly as the mercenary leader turned the pouch over to Siana.

"I think that will suffice," Arcol said quietly. He paused for a long moment, studying Hetwn for any sort of treachery. "When do you want this done?"

"On the morrow," Hetwn replied.


	9. Eve of War

**VIII**

"I was surprised to hear from you again so soon. Did you miss my charming company?"

"One might say that," Arwydd said, smiling up at Pryderi as the wizard approached her table in the open tavern where they had first met. The elderboy had, in fact, been very surprised by the sudden missive delivered to the gates of House Gwalchgwynn, but he had made certain to take the most winding and indirect route to the Central Market as possible during the trip. Finding House Evnissien's younger daughter relieved some of the anxiety he had felt during his travels, but Pryderi still remained alert for any signs of ambush. "Would you care to join me?" Arwydd inquired, gesturing to the seat across from her. "I'll buy the wine this time."

"How could I resist?" Pryderi asked in reply, easily sliding into the chair. Arwydd was certainly gifted when it came to hiding her emotions beneath the amused, half interested façade she wore, but Pryderi could see, when she had first spotted him enter the tavern and certainly now, that she was hiding something more. Her eyes followed his every move, no matter how slight, and she seemed to grow instantly brighter at his mere appearance. Although it was largely hidden beneath her dress, she still wore the opal pendant he had given her, despite the fact that she had likely never identified the exact dweomer placed on the gem. Silently Pryderi congratulated himself on his accomplishment. She was obviously fighting it, for no priestess would give in easily to such emotions, but House Evnissien's second daughter was rapidly falling for him. "So, what would House Evnissien have of me today?" Pryderi inquired, allowing himself to enjoy the attention he was receiving from the beautiful young priestess. Arwydd smiled as she considered the question.

"We have discovered another alliance that Hen Wyneb holds," the priestess said, lowering her voice slightly. "They have been shuttling troops quietly to Hen Wyneb. While we doubt their soldiers are very good, we want to strike at them before they can reach the gates of the Hen Wyneb compound. I will be a part of that raid."

"That seems a sound strategy," Pryderi said, nodding slightly. "I wish you the best of luck."

"Matron Saffir also requested your presence on the raid," Arwydd continued. Pryderi arched an eyebrow. "And… I would like you to be with me," the priestess continued. She obviously fought to keep any emotion out of her voice, but the simple statement confirmed his ideas as to the priestess' motives. Pryderi allowed himself a smile as he considered the question.

"Why would I be requested for such a raid?" Pryderi inquired. "After all, in an alliance the sharing of troops is one thing, but to ask another noble…"

"Please, Pryderi?" Arwydd pressed. Pryderi could see a light of desire in the priestess' eyes.

"What house is supplying troops?" the wizard asked. He had barely caught himself in time; looking into her smoldering crimson eyes, he had nearly acquiesced without even thinking. Arwydd leaned back slightly, a more secure smile forming on her delicate lips.

"Perhaps you've heard of them," the priestess said. "House Lleision has allied with our enemies."

"Lleision," Pryderi repeated, considering the information for a moment. Gwalchgwynn was well aware of the twenty-fourth house of Llyr; although they were hardly a threat to the truly powerful houses of the city, Lleision had been ambitious almost to the point of desperation in trying to increase their standing among the lower houses. Under the rule of a new matron mother and trying to swell their army's ranks with almost any drow they could find, Pryderi had to wonder if the house was attempting to curry favor with Hen Wyneb for an upcoming assault of their own. "And how many troops would they be sending to Hen Wyneb?" the elderboy inquired, careful to keep the interest out of his voice.

"From what we heard? Twenty-five," Arwydd replied. "It appears that House Lleision is trying to have Llawr Hen Wyneb train their troops for them. After all, from what I have seen, Lleision's weaponmaster is no great swordsman."

"That he is not," Pryderi agreed. "So, when would this raid take place?"

"Does that mean you'll join me?" Arwydd asked, just a touch too eager for her own good.

"For you, mistress, anything," Pryderi replied, enjoying the game. Arwydd's smile almost exploded onto her face, but the priestess fought down more than a faint show of happiness.

"We raid tomorrow," she answered. "And remember. Just because they may be House Lleision, don't take them for granted. They could be buying fair warriors in the market even as we speak."

"I survived Llyfrdy-Lledreth," Pryderi said, finding his smile growing just a bit too wide for his own good. "I think a few Lleision soldiers will be simple enough."

"House Hen Wyneb may think that of us at this very moment," Arwydd pointed out. Pryderi nodded with a touch of amusement.

"You are, of course, correct, mistress," the wizard said. "I won't underestimate my foes."

"I hope not," Arwydd said. "And now that our business is concluded, perhaps we can share some wine?"

Pryderi smiled slightly, more than happy to accept her hospitality.

"I thought you'd never ask."

* * *

Daere said it was necessary because they were stretched thin at the moment. Tarren was convinced that it was simply to antagonize her.

The youngest daughter of House Hen Wyneb, clad in her fine chain mail and carrying her shield and mace as well as her favored snake whip, made her way through the Central Market rapidly, disgusted with the situation as much as she was the company. For three days she had been forced to comb the markets for as many capable drow warriors as possible, keeping her away from the noble districts as well as her studies at Arlais-Corryn. While Daere or Banon, or even one of the high ranking commoners, could have been sent on these errands, Tarren was convinced that her older sisters were intentionally holding her back. The delays that the rumors of war had caused were now forcing Tarren to take another year at the Spider Queen's Academy, meaning that it would be yet another year before she would obtain her title of high priestess. Daere in particular seemed to delight in her sister's misfortune, giving more credence to the thought that she had hand picked Tarren's escort.

"Mistress, I believe you will find several mages of worth in the southern districts of the market," Neifion said, following just behind her on her left as Tarren made her way to the eastern side of the market. Tarren turned back on him with barely concealed disgust.

"You, male, will speak when you are spoken to," the young priestess stated angrily. Neifion bowed his head in a show of respect, but the smirk on his face never slipped. For a moment her hand dropped to the snake headed whip on her belt, but Tarren reined in her anger. It would do no good to Hen Wyneb for the house's enemies to see her publicly flogging her subordinates. The priestess looked past the disrespectful male to the other members of her escort. Collwen, the other wizard Daere had purchased with Neifion, masked her disgust with the situation well, but Tarren could still read it in her eyes. Neither of those wizards seemed to have any respect for her, the reason, she was certain, that Daere had sent them both with her. The other five warriors with her, all purchased within the last three days, pointedly watched the surrounding market rather than Neifion's show of disrespect. "I know where I'm going."

"As you will, mistress," Neifion said, bowing his head once more and falling into place behind her. Tarren hesitated for a long moment, biting back her rage, then took a step to the insolent wizard.

"Don't think I'll forget your attitude, male," Tarren growled, leaning in over the slightly shorter Neifion. "You had best learn to show respect before we return to the house, or you will feel my wrath."

"I have overstepped my bounds, mistress, and I apologize," Neifion said, looking slightly more contrite. "I was wrong to question your judgment or your wisdom."

"Yes, you were," Tarren agreed, her words dripping with hate. She considered for a moment slapping the male, but decided against it and turned back to the road in front of her. Constant delays were getting her no closer to the completion of her task to recruit four more mages for her house's army. And besides, there would be more… interesting ways to punish the male once she returned to the safety of the Hen Wyneb compound.

"Mistress, watch out!" Collwen shouted suddenly. The priestess turned back to her charge, but Neifion suddenly knocked her to the ground. Just above her, so close that it made the hair on her head practically stand on end, a lightning bolt roared into the other members of her entourage, obliterating four of her five warriors instantly.

"Mistress, it's an attack!" Neifion said, quickly climbing back to his feet. Tarren only made it to one knee when a dart glanced off of her shoulder. Ahead of her, two males had moved out of the shadows to attack, while a third, this one female, remained behind them as she chanted out another spell. Bounding ahead of the two males, a huge hound with glowing eyes and fire brimming from its mouth bore down unerringly on Tarren.

Neifion spat out a quick spell and threw his hand forward, unleashing two magic missiles on the hellhound and another streaking towards the enemy mage. The hound took the missiles in its flank with nothing more than a growl of pain as it raced forward, giving Tarren only a fraction of a second to raise her shield. The hellhound slammed into the metal device with enough force to knock her flat on her back as flames poured around the edge to burn her arms and sear her face. Desperately the priestess tried to bring her mace to bear, but she could barely manage a feeble, glancing blow to the hellhound's shoulder even as three brilliant streaks of eldritch energy slammed into her sides.

"Neifion!" Tarren screamed, losing her dignity in the face of the brutal assault. The mage had already drawn his short sword, seemingly more intent on facing the two males than helping the priestess. "Help me!"

"Collwen, take out their mage!" Neifion directed. The sorceress spat out a vile chant and pointed at her distant target, but Tarren could see no effects as the hellhound's gaping, fiery maw appeared at the top of her shield. Already burned by the infernal dog and wounded from the magic missiles, Tarren desperately tried to beat away the hellhound leering over her.

"Neifion!" she screamed again. The wizard was suddenly over her, his short sword driving into the hellhound's side even as Neifion breathed out a cloud of bone chilling frost. Tarren could feel the icy breath across her face and even through her shield as the hellhound was caught in the freezing cloud. The infernal dog howled in pain and leapt away from its new attacker, trying to race back to its masters and giving Tarren the precious seconds she needed to scramble back to her feet. The priestess stumbled back into a defensive posture, seeing the arrogant smirk on Neifion's face as he glanced over to her.

"I hope you are well, mistress," the wizard said smugly.

"Shut your mouth and finish them!" Tarren snapped, furious and embarrassed that she had to be saved by Neifion. The hellhound turned back to the pair, ready to charge in again in front of the two warriors, but a quartet of magic missiles streaked around the priestess and impacted into each side of the monster. The hellhound crashed to the ground with a last whimper of pain, but the slain creature was quickly forgotten as the two warriors leapt over their fallen minion to press the attack.

Tarren raised her mace and shield quickly, but she was barely able to fend off her attacker as he rushed in on her with his short swords. The warrior feinted high and then drove low, his blades moving with lightning speed, and the priestess was barely able to fend off the twin strike with a desperate sweep of her shield. Tarren dropped back a step as the warrior spun away from her parry and into a long slash at her head, feeling the blades come within inches of her forehead before her attacker once again dropped low with another thrust for her chest. Again Tarren barely managed to put her shield in line with the attack, being pushed back by the sheer force of the warrior's strike. Her opponent matched her step with a move of his own, his swords darting quickly in at both of her sides. Tarren managed to block both weapons away, but her own defenses were so far out of line that the warrior easily stepped in and delivered a vicious kick to her chest. Staggering and gasping for breath as the wind was blasted from her lungs, the priestess only barely reacted in time to stumble out of the way of her attacker's blades. One sword scraped along her chest, but her chain mail held under the assault. Another strike drew a line of pain across her cheek as the sword's tip grazed her face. Tarren glanced around quickly, hoping that Neifion or Collwen could come to her aid before her defenses failed, but Neifion had been forced into melee combat by the other warrior and Collwen was reeling from a trio of magic missiles loosed by the opposing spellcaster. Quickly Tarren dropped back another three steps, buying herself just enough time to channel Lolth's power into a single command.

"In the Spider Queen's name, stop!" the priestess yelled, forcing her will upon her enemy. She had cast her spell not a moment too soon; the warrior had breached her defenses, but his twin blades halted just as they were about to pierce her armor. Quickly Tarren backed away, praying that her spell would hold long enough for her allies to come to her aid.

A scream of unearthly pain arose from the enemy spellcaster, catching her attention. The priestess turned to see the sorceress tearing at her clothes, her skin smoking and almost roiling under the effects of some spell. Collwen was only barely stumbling to her feet, but the fire scarred sorceress grinned maliciously as she saw her counterpart shrieking in agony. Tarren turned to Neifion next; the wizard was certainly a competent swordsman, but he was slowly being overmatched by his enemy. Collwen moved forward, ready to begin another spell, but Tarren held up her hand. Neifion could not help but notice the priestess' order to the sorceress, but still he fought without begging for help, practically smiling as he saw Tarren's growing anger. Even as the warrior's long sword drew a long, bright line of blood across the wizard's thigh, Neifion simply turned his typical smug smile on the young priestess. Snarling in barely controlled fury, Tarren drew her snake whip and descended on the two combatants with a berserker rage.

The first strike took her target completely off guard. Locked in his fight with Neifion, the would be assassin had no chance to evade Tarren's whip as it bit through his studded leather armor and ripped into his back. Tarren shrieked in wordless rage as her whip descended again and again on her attacker, driving him first to his knees and then to the ground. Even long after he stopped moving Tarren continued to pound on the warrior's back, until his armor was shredded from his body and his skin hung in tatters.

"Mistress," Neifion said. The simple address nearly caused Tarren to turn her assaults on the wizard, but she managed to stay her hand before the snakes descended again.

"What?" she snapped, looking up to her subordinates.

"The other assassin has escaped," Neifion pointed out simply. Tarren turned to where her attacker had been frozen by her spell, but not a trace remained of the drow.

"Why didn't you go after him?" Tarren growled, standing up and stalking over to the wizard.

"We did not wish to leave you unguarded," Collwen answered for Neifion. Tarren whirled on her. "As you may have noticed, all of your other guards have been slain."

Tarren looked to the road behind her, and found that Collwen's statement was indeed true. All five of the warriors had been killed, either by the lightning bolt or by the poisoned darts that the two warriors had thrown to begin their assault. Tarren snarled in frustration, but could do nothing more than wipe the blood from her face.

"Search these bodies," the priestess ordered. "Find out who they were and who they were working for."

"As you wish, mistress," Collwen said.

* * *

It had been well over a decade since the fall of House Gwynfor, but the broken remains of its compound still stood on the southwestern edges of Llyr. Its once magnificent gate, depicting a spider in the center of a large web, was now nothing more than blasted, twisted steel hanging precariously on its hinges. The stone and metal fence that surrounded the compound had been torn and holed in many places, while the stalagmite towers were still blackened by the impacts of fireballs and lightning during the house's violent end. Only a handful of the steel bridges that connected the towers remained, and of those only two looked strong enough to chance walking upon them. The mushroom and lichen groves that once stood beautifully in the center of the compound were long since burned away, leaving only a small pool of fouled water in the heart of the compound.

It was not often that Maddox Hen Wyneb would travel to the site of the once great sixth house of Llyr, but the wizard knew that life still lurked behind the fire blackened walls and useless gate. He knew that eyes were on him even as he entered the crumbling ruin, and that if he even began a spell a dozen or more poisoned darts would hit him by the time he raised his hands to cast. Maddox cast a quick glance around him as he made his way to the tallest, thinnest tower in the compound, but he could not find a single one of the unseen guards that he knew were littered across the ruins.

The door to the tower seemed to be battered and partially off its hinges, but it opened easily just as Maddox reached it. Standing inside, a young drow warrior in leather armor drew a serrated dagger on the wizard, blocking entrance.

"Identify yourself and state your business," the youth ordered.

"Maddox Hen Wyneb, here to speak with Romney," the noble replied. The youth hesitated for a moment.

"Enter," he finally said. Maddox swept in past the boy, hardly concerning himself with the most obvious and likely least threatening sentry in the ruins. Inside the door, a wide stone staircase led up the side of the tower, dust collecting on the steps and stones missing in several places. A less obvious, narrow and spiraling stairway made of blackened steel led to the depths below the ruins. It was to this stairway that Maddox turned, even before the youth caught up with him.

"I shall take you to Romney," the boy said, quickly putting himself between Maddox and the stairway. The wizard rolled his eyes at the youth's back, but followed him down in silence nonetheless. Two more guards were waiting at the bottom of the staircase, these two better armed and armored, and older, than the youth leading him. Maddox took them in with a cursory glance as the youth led him to an unobtrusive metal door on the opposite side of what had likely been the dungeon of House Gwynfor before their demise. The boy stopped and knocked lightly on the door. To Maddox there seemed to be no reply. But the youth pushed the door open and stood aside for the wizard to enter. Maddox paused for only a second before he walked pas the youth and entered the room.

"Welcome back, Maddox," the drow occupying the room said as the door shut behind the wizard. "It's been several years at least."

"That it has been," Maddox replied, casting only a quick glance over his shoulder at the closed door before turning to his host. Seated behind a low desk centered in the room, the other drow was dressed in quiet, blackened leather and wore a flowing cloak that concealed everything but the large jet set into the pommel of his sword's hilt. The wizard appraised the small but neatly furnished room before continuing. "I see you've prospered over that time."

"Time has been good to us," Romney stated. The drow leaned forward on the small desk in front of him. "So, what brings the elderboy of House Hen Wyneb to my humble abode?"

"Information," Maddox replied. "I'm sure you've heard the rumors by now."

"Rumors?" Romney echoed, a faint smirk on his face. "My dear Maddox, I'm not some gossip monger in the market."

"My house is under threat, Romney," Maddox said, losing a faint bit of patience with the flippant mercenary. The elderboy dropped a pouch on the desk. "I don't have time to play games. I need information."

"Rumors abound," Romney informed the noble, opening the drawstrings to the pouch. The mercenary nodded slightly at the contents; Maddox had brought a half dozen glittering, finely cut diamonds to buy information, easily enough to buy almost any drow's knowledge. "Many say Brenin Llywd fears you, enough so to launch an attack of their own."

"And what do you say?" Maddox inquired. Romney leaned back in his chair, pondering the matter for a moment.

"It is possible," the mercenary finally replied. "After all, Matron Eirian fears your mother very much." Romney paused for a moment, apparently considering his statement. "But I find it more possible that Brenin Llywd sponsors another house to take the fight to Hen Wyneb."

"We lost a caravan three days ago," Maddox said. Romney nodded. "One of the attackers was a noble, but there was another attacker that was more… noticeable. A shadowdancer."

"So the Shadow Guild is taking part," Romney said thoughtfully.

"The shadowdancer must be in the employ of a house," Maddox said. "Do you know who employs one?"

"Outside of Blodyn-tywyll, no," Romney said. He glanced down to the pouch of diamonds on the desk. "But I think, given a little bit of time, we could find out who else does."

"There will be more compensation when the answers are found, if they are found in a timely manner," Maddox promised. The noble turned to leave, but stopped at the door for a moment and turned back to the mercenary. "The sooner we know, the better your payment shall be."

"Then you may wish to gather your funds quickly," Romney said with a smile. "I doubt this will take long at all."


	10. Powerful Allies

Even beating my head against the keyboard isn't helping the writer's block much any more...

Much as I don't often like author notes, I'll mention now, since a couple of people picked up on it, that I am indeed using Welsh for my drow as a sort of cultural/linguistic background? Why, you ask? Well, the reasons are twofold. For one, I try to distance myself as much as possible from Salvatore and his annoying army of chaotic good drow renegades, and two, and more importantly, the drow are still related, albeit distantly, to their surface cousins, who I have painted as Celtic. The Welsh and Celtic are close enough to say that one could be a perversion of the other, thus reinforcing their ties.

* * *

**IX**

The street lay empty and silent, shrouded in shadows and pool of faint light from the glow of faerie fire on the elegant houses that lined the thoroughfare as it wound through the artisans' district of Llyr. The richest of the drow artists inhabited these homes, decorating their stone and mushroom mansions almost to the point of gaudiness with statues and ornate columns depicting everything from fearsome dragon gargoyles to beautiful drow and marked at almost every turn by some sort of spider motif. Faerie fire abounded in this place, creating long shadows and pools of bright light between the homes and across the wide thoroughfare that led to House Hen Wyneb.

"Are you sure House Lleision's soldiers will come this way?" Pryderi inquired quietly, glancing over to Arwydd. The priestess shot her companion an irritated glance.

_They will take a circuitous route to Hen Wyneb_, Arwydd replied in the drow hand code. _They do not want to set themselves up for an ambush_.

_But this is in the completely opposite direction of Lleision_, Pryderi countered, his fingers moving quickly through the code. Even now Gwalchgwynn's elderboy felt uneasy about the strike; Matron Saffir had committed all of her children to this ambush, as well as her weaponmaster and a dozen more well armed, well trained soldiers. _This is more on the route to-_

Arwydd grabbed his hands quickly, forcing his fingers together to cease his questions as she nodded to the street ahead of her. Pryderi dropped back even further behind the low stone wall that he and Arwydd used for cover, watching as a column of drow warriors appeared from around the gentle curve only a few dozen yards ahead. One look at the well armed elves sent a warning through Pryderi's mind; these were not the undisciplined, unskilled drow that House Lleision employed. Each drow moved in perfect step, led by a female whose robes and ebon hued chain mail marked her as a high priestess of…

"Caer Llion," the Gwalchgwynn breathed out. Pryderi turned to Arwydd, but the young priestess was already on her feet, one hand balled into a tight fist.

"Demon Queen of Spiders, grant me your power," she breathed out. A ball of rapidly brightening light was gathering around her fist, quickly attracting the attention of the Caer Llion soldiers.

"Arwydd, are you insane?" Pryderi demanded, trying to drag her back behind the wall.  
Arwydd shook him off quickly. "Get down or they'll kill us!"

The lead priestess shouted a warning just as Arwydd released her spell, sending a streak of blinding white light directly into her target's chest. The searing blast robbed Pryderi's sight for a brief moment, but the wizard still managed to tackle Arwydd to the ground before the stunned Caer Llion soldiers could loose their darts or spells on the Evnissien priestess. Ahead of him, Pryderi could hear the enraged shouts of their enemies as the Caer Llion troops recovered from their surprise and advanced on the pair.

Those shouts turned to alarm only a heartbeat later.

Pryderi's sight returned just as the Caer Llion troops vanished, lost inside a perimeter of globes of impenetrable darkness. House Evnissien's raiders emerged from the shadows and charged headlong into the darkness even as two pillars of brilliant white fire roared up inside the trap, hurling their darts through the globes before they disappeared into the magical gloom. Pryderi watched the spectacle for a long moment before Arwydd grabbed him by the arm.

"Let's go!" the priestess ordered, dragging the wizard with her as she rushed to join the fray. Pryderi had no choice but to follow; if he so much as hesitated, the Evnissien raiding party would claim him as their next victim long before he could reach the relative safety of the Gwalchgwynn compound. Pryderi pushed his way through the globes of darkness as he readied a spell, hoping that he did not come upon a Caer Llion warrior before he could bring his magic to bear. The wizard stumbled and nearly fell as he raced through the globes, but came up with half of his magic missile spell already cast. Pryderi loosed his spell before he saw anything more than the dark fabric of a Caer Llion cloak. As that warrior fell, Pryderi was stunned by the sight before him.

House Evnissien was outnumbered by the Caer Llion troops, but it was evident that the lower house had committed its most lethal subjects to the fray. Caer Llion's soldier's regrouped expertly, forming shield walls around their mages their remaining priestess, but even they could not hope to stand forever against two masters of Ysgol-Cyfranc and two high priestesses. Naomhin's swords were already coated with blood as the elderboy sliced through a lone opponent, while Fychan loosed a bolt of lightning through a pair of fighters and the globes of darkness beyond them. Another lightning bolt countered Fychan's as the Caer Llion mages retaliated, tearing through two of Evnissien's fighters and even knocking Athruis to one knee, but the second mage's trio of magic missiles did not even wound Fychan before they were absorbed into the clasp that held the secondboy's _piwafwi_ around his shoulders.

"Pryderi! Get in the fight!" Arwydd suddenly shouted, dropping low behind her shield as a pair of poisoned darts bounced off of her defense. Pryderi quickly called to mind another spell, centering it on the Caer Llion fighters as they tried to protect their leaders. The spell took effect just as Athruis reached the shield wall, slowing the defenders' movements, but the spell hardly seemed necessary as the Evnissien weaponmaster hit the ranks.

Even the weaponmasters of the lowest noble houses were capable combatants, but as Athruis hit the Caer Llion ranks, Pryderi could only stare in awe for a brief moment. The weaponmaster dropped low under one agonizingly slow swing of a Caer Llion sword, his double bladed sword spinning under the shields of the two defenders and cutting into their legs. As the two warriors dropped, Athruis vaulted the wounded pair, jamming his weapon home in the midsection of one startled mage before he could find a counter, then ripping the weapon free in a shower of blood and stabbing back with the second blade into one of the two soldiers. The final soldier tried to turn and bring his shield in line with Athruis' attacks, the weaponmaster slammed one blade into the device, knocking it wide, then reversed his sword's momentum and sheared the warrior's head from his shoulders.

"Pryderi!" Arwydd yelled again. The wizard turned and loosed a ray of enervation, striking one unfortunate Caer Llion soldier just as he drew his weapon back to strike the wizard. The soldier paused in midswing for a moment as black energy crackled around him, but finally dropped to the ground, his life force drained away by the Gwalchgwynn's magic.

Pryderi turned away from the dead solider at his feet, calling to mind another magic missile as he turned back to the fray. Arwydd had foregone spells in favor of hand to hand combat, darting between a pair of already wounded Caer Llion soldiers with a short, flamberge blade sword, blood already dripping down its serpentine length. Naomhin, bleeding from cuts to his sword arm and smoking from a lightning strike, had lost none of his speed or strength as he drove in on the rival house's priestess, driving her back into the waiting clutches of Cadwared's lethal shadow. The shadowdancer himself flowed in and out of the globes of darkness along the perimeter, appearing to cut down the Caer Llion minions as they tried to escape the ring of darkness. Another blast of brilliant white fire smashed down on the final strong point of the second house's defenses, revealing Talaith as the priestess waded in on the survivors with her snake headed whip. Pryderi's lightning bolt hardly seemed necessary as he punched through a last pair of Caer Llion troops, ending the slaughter as rapidly as it had begun.

"Quickly," Talaith ordered, turning to her soldiers. House Evnissien had only lost five of their warriors in the battle, a testament to the smaller house's careful planning and skilled soldiers. "Take priestess' head. Clear all evidence and disappear."

Talaith's simple order sent the others into action. Naomhin chopped the slain priestess' head from her shoulders, wrapping the grisly trophy in the bloodstained cloak of the Caer Llion cleric before stuffing it into a plain burlap sack. Arwydd produced a pair of scrolls from her robes and quickly animated the corpses of the five fallen soldiers, while Athruis and the surviving warriors methodically cut out or punctured the eyes of the dead Caer Llion troops, both to be certain they were dead and to prevent the second house's priestesses from seeing the last image captured in the bodies' eyes. Only Fychan seemed to do nothing as the others covered their tracks, but Pryderi, a fellow wizard, knew that the mage was keeping a mystical watch over the surrounding streets for signs of any onlookers who might be too curious. As soon as each warrior finished his assigned tasks, he disappeared through the last lingering globes of darkness and disappeared into the gloomy neighborhood.

"Arwydd!" Pryderi snapped, grabbing the priestess as she turned the animated corpses over to Talaith.

"It was flawless!" the young priestess exclaimed, her face flushed with excitement. She turned quickly, leading Pryderi by the hand into the streets. "But this is no time to tarry. We must disappear!"

"Those troops were from Caer Llion!" Pryderi snarled, spinning Arwydd back to him. "You deceived me!"

"You let yourself be deceived!" Arwydd countered sharply. "Twenty-five of Lleision's soldiers dedicated to another house, and you never so much as blinked! You knew even as we set our trap that this was not the way to Lleision! Don't blame me for your ignorance, elderboy."

"Matron Morfyl will hear of this!" Pryderi threatened. "And what will happen to your precious alliance then?"

"I hardly think Matron Morfyl will leave our side, knowing that her own son implicated her in a plot against the second house of Llyr," Arwydd said, her voice growing cold and even. "No, Pryderi, I think it far more likely that she will sacrifice her elderboy to Lolth if she finds out how you were led along by nothing more than a simple look of desire from a young, inexperienced priestess. The only one to risk Matron Morfyl's ire in this is you."

"You tricked me," Pryderi growled.

"Just as you tried to trick me," Arywdd countered. A coy smile began to tug at the priestess' lips. "Be careful what webs you try to weave, mage. I am a servant of the Spider Queen, and I am not trapped so easily."

Pryderi glared at the priestess for a moment, but strangely felt himself unable to be as furious with her as he wished.

"Now come on," Arwydd said, once again turning and dragging the wizard along with her. "We have to get away from here."

* * *

It was an odd summons, but not one that was entirely unexpected.

Neifion made his way casually through the lower chambers of House Hen Wyneb's central tower, not caring to guess exactly what Tarren wanted with him. In the day since their battle in the Central Market, the priestess had seemingly avoided all contact with him, going so far as to stay locked in the noble sections of the towers where Neifion could not normally travel. The summons he had received, to join her in her own private chambers, seemed odd to say the least, but the punishment for disobeying a priestess, even one as young and untested as Tarren, could be as severe as ritual sacrifice to the spider Queen.

Without the innate ability of levitation, Neifion scaled the spiraling staircase that led up into the central tower, noting with some concern that what few guards were posted along his route did nothing to stop him to so much as inquire as to his business. Neifion's _piwafwi, _though marked with the colors of Hen Wyneb, obviously marked him as a mercenary soldier of the house, and his flat white hair, tied back in an unremarkable scalp lock, further reinforced his station as a commoner. Neifion could only conclude that the guards had been warned in advance of Tarren's summoning, a guess he all but confirmed as he caught one guard's almost sympathetic glance to the wizard as he passed.

Tarren's chambers were located on the lowest level of the nobles' levels of the central tower, something that no doubt irritated the priestess greatly. Neifion made his way to the noble daughter's door, hesitating for a long moment as he stood before it. Nothing could be heard behind the stout door, made of exceedingly rare wood rather than metal or mushroom planks, but as he drew his hand back to knock the portal creaked open ever so slightly. Cautiously Neifion pushed the door open, his hand dropping to the hilt of his short sword in case the room concealed a more dangerous threat than the priestess.

"Come in, Neifion," Tarren said quietly, somewhere in the darkness. Even Neifion's darkvision did not reveal the priestess, or indeed much of the room, to him. The wizard inched his way forward. "Come now, Neifion. There is no reason to fear me."

"I simply don't wish to break anything in your chambers, mistress," Neifion said, losing what little sight he had as he found himself entering a globe of darkness. The wizard stopped on the edge of the opaque globe.

"Don't be silly," Tarren said, a smug coyness to her voice. "Come here, Neifion. I have something to show you."

"As you wish, mistress," Neifion said, reluctantly taking another step into the globe. Thoroughly expecting a trap of some sort, he was still surprised as he found himself entangled in the strands of a large web, but after only a brief instant of struggle before surrendering. Struggling was likely what Tarren wanted, and the wizard refused to give her the satisfaction.

"Poor, poor Neifion," Tarren said, lifting the globe of darkness. The priestess was lying on her bed, dressed in a sparkling, translucent silken gown as she gently caressed one of the heads of her snake whip. Although she was certainly attractive, the revealing attire only reinforced to Neifion how young the priestess was, and how desperate she was to prove herself as an adult. "Trapped in a spider's web, helpless as a babe."

"I am at your mercy, mistress," Neifion said, shrugging as much as he could in the web. Tarren leapt to her feet suddenly, lashing out with her whip. Caught as he was, the wizard could do no more than gasp in pain at the painful strike. The wizard could feel the whip's poison burn through his veins, robbing him of his coordination, and if not for the web he would have collapsed to the floor. As he jerked spasmodically in the web, Tarren caught his chin, drawing his face close to hers.

"How does it feel, male?" the priestess demanded, her crimson eyes burning with rage. "How does it feel to be helpless? I should have done this in front of the entire house, like you humiliated me in front of Daere!"

"I apologize, mistress," Neifion sputtered out. Tarren shoved his face away, then lashed out one more time with her whip across his chest. Bright lines of blood formed where his robes were torn away, and once more Neifion would have doubled over in pain if not for the web.

"Oh, a simple apology will not help you, male," Tarren purred, her lips just barely brushing his ear. Neifion looked up to see the priestess circling in front of him despite the webbing that surrounded her. As Tarren saw his confusion, she smiled coldly. "No web can hold one in the Spider Queen's favor," she explained. "Something you would do well to learn, slave."

"You are right, mistress," Neifion said. It was disgusting to be held prisoner by what amounted to little more than a child drunk with her limited power, but for the moment there was nothing he could do. "I am your slave."

Tarren lashed him one more time, one of the snake heads even biting into his jaw, but as Neifion's blurry sight returned to normal he could see the smug smile on her face clearly.

"Now you are starting to learn," the young priestess observed, taking a step back from the wizard as she coiled her snake whip. Whether it was for another strike or not, Neifion was uncertain.

"What must I do to please you, mistress?" Neifion inquired, certain that was what Tarren wanted to hear. As he spoke the words, Tarren's lips curved into a wicked smile. Slowly she slipped out of her gown and stepped up to the trapped wizard.

"It is very simple," she breathed, brushing up against him. "You will please me, or you will die."

* * *

For almost a week the rumors had been circulating. House Hen Wyneb was preparing for war. They were under attack by an unknown house or houses, and they were hiring commoner soldiers and mages almost daily. They had lost a caravan on its way to House Caer Llion, the powerful second house of the city, and the house's youngest daughter, Tarren, had been attacked by assassins in the Central Market. Even Caer Llion had been bloodied by the brewing house war; twenty-five of their soldiers, led by the granddaughter of Matron Vala Caer Llion herself, had been attacked and killed by an unknown rival.

Arcol, however, knew who that rival was.

His knowledge made the current situation even more confusing. Hetwn had to have known that Tarren's guards included a powerful caster and a fighter-mage, but why had he not mentioned that when he had paid the group? Letting Tarren survive the assault seemed completely wrong to the mercenary, but he could not shake the feeling that Hetwn had sent his small band into a trap.

And that was the reason he had followed Hetwn.

The Patron of House Evnissien took great pains to throw off any trackers, but Arcol had spent too much time shadowing the nobles of Llyr to be lost by a house mage. Hetwn took a winding path through the avenues of the noble districts, crossing quickly through alleys and taking small side tunnels when they afforded themselves until he reached the bustling Central Market.

Hetwn's trail ended at a small blacksmith, an unusual destination for one inclined toward magic. Arcol quickly disappeared behind the stalls of an adjacent arms dealer as the patron quickly appraised the area around him; Hetwn was almost certainly waiting for someone. Arcol carefully made his way closer to the mage, careful not to reveal himself to the watchful patron.

Hetwn's apparent rendezvous arrived only a short time after the patron reached the smithy. As Arcol watched, a powerfully built warrior, dressed in the finery of House Brenin Llywd, joined the wizard at the shop, smiling as he approached. Hetwn seemed dismayed by the act of familiarity.

"What a surprise meeting," the Brenin Llywd noble said as he joined Hetwn. "The patron of House Evnissien in the Central Market."

"I am a busy man, Heilyn," Hetwn stated curtly. "What do you want with me?"

"A moment of your time," Heilyn replied. "Let's take a walk."

Hetwn sighed in frustration at the younger noble, but nonetheless followed as Heilyn made his way to a more deserted corner of the market. Arcol kept just far enough behind to remain out of sight, but still close enough to hear the pair as Heilyn turned to his accomplice.

"You've no doubt hear the rumors," the fighter said, his voice growing quiet and serious.

"Rumors of war," Hetwn answered simply. "The whole city can feel it coming now. Something is going to happen soon."

"Something has happened," Heilyn said. "Caer Llion lost twenty-five troops and the matron's granddaughter. A most cunning raid, I must admit."

"What do you want, Heilyn?" Hetwn asked again, ignoring the veiled compliment. The Brenin Llywd held out a small pouch."

"This is the last we can do for you for some time," Heilyn explained. "Hen Wyneb watches us too closely now, and if we were implicated in the raid on Caer Llion, it could be the end of us."

"Mighty allies your house makes," Hetwn grumbled, a heavy dose of sarcasm in his voice.

"We have given you two dozen soldiers and enough currency to buy twice as many more," Heilyn countered, growing indignant. "We have done all we can in this alliance. Hen Wyneb will continue to watch us, which means they won't be watching you. We'll make a good show of it until it's too late. Do not give Matron Eirian cause to side against you, patron. After all, you could not even eliminate a daughter of House Hen Wyneb away from her home."

Hetwn said nothing at the insult, but Arcol did not see the checked anger he would have expected from the wizard at the botched assassination.

"House Evnissien thanks you for what little help you deigned to give," Hetwn said. "We will remember your generosity in the future."

"And we will certainly repay you in kind for removing a threat to our security," Heilyn said. "Lolth bless your endeavors."

"And yours," Hetwn agreed. Heilyn turned and started quickly into the market, leaving the patron alone for a moment. Finally, Hetwn started back toward the smithy, putting him directly in line to pass the mercenary. As Hetwn drew near him, Arcol leapt from the shadows, putting a dagger to the wizard's throat before he could try to cast a spell.

"One sound and I'll slit your throat," Arcol warned, shoving the far smaller mage into the darkness of a small alcove. Hetwn glanced down at the dagger, then to his attacker. "So, Brenin Llywd has abandoned you to fight your battles on your own?"

"An inconvenience, nothing more," Hetwn answered coolly.

"So it would seem," Arcol agreed. He paused for a moment. "But I don't care about alliances. What I care about is why you sent us into a trap."

"A trap," Hetwn repeated, practically spitting the words out. "Trap nothing, Arcol. If I knew you and your allies were not up to the task, I would have hired more competent mercenaries."

"Tarren had a powerful spellcaster with her, as well as a warrior-mage," Arcol said, shoving Hetwn into the wall behind him. "Why didn't you tell us about that?"

"Because I didn't know about them," Hetwn answered, trying to force the mercenary away from him. Arcol simply leaned in harder, beginning to draw blood with the tip of his dagger.

"I want answers!" Arcol snapped. "You sent us to die! Why?"

"Because you are apparently incapable of handling one priestess in training," Hetwn countered coldly. Arcol snarled as he backed off ever so slightly.

"I wonder what House Hen Wyneb would pay to know who it is they should really fear," the mercenary speculated. "Or how much Caer Llion would offer to know who it was that killed Vala's granddaughter."

"Arcol," Hetwn said. "I don't think it would be wise to mention what you know to anyone."

"Then tell me why Siana and Rhodri are dead," Arcol stated, his anger rising once again.

"Very well," Hetwn said, dropping his head in resignation. The wizard mumbled something under his breath.

"What was that?" Arcol inquired.

_"Niteo!" _the wizard suddenly shouted, throwing a handful of powder at the mercenary. Arcol threw himself backward, trying to avoid whatever spell the wizard had cast, but it was already too late. The mercenary could see nothing but glittering golden motes in front of his eyes. Arcol shot forward, trying to impale the patron on his dagger, but by the time he had realized what had happened Hetwn had moved from his original position.

"I could have found other uses for you," Hetwn said, his voice seeming to come from every direction at once. Arcol slashed blindly around him, but hit nothing more than the alcove wall with his attacks. "But I don't take kindly to threats, Arcol."

"Pray I don't find you," Arcol growled, trying to separate the echoes from the wizard. Hetwn's chuckle reverberated around him.

"I don't think you'll have a chance," Hetwn observed. Arcol spun again, lashing out wildly, but once again hit nothing but air. "Goodbye, Arcol. _Trucido, mortuus."_

Arcol staggered blindly for a step, feeling his life draining away from him. The mercenary lashed out one last time, but his feeble swing connected with nothing as he collapsed to the ground.

As Arcol fell to the ground, Hetwn finally moved away from the wall where he had pressed himself against the rock. Carefully the wizard knelt next to his attacker, watching the corpse to make certain that he was dead. Arcol's body, covered in golden motes from his glitterdust spell, remained silent and still.

* * *

The third house of Llyr was one of the oldest structures in the entire city. Built during the formation of the drow city, House Siryddion stood on the very edges of the Central Market, its mushroom cottages and spiraling stone towers clustered around an enormous central spire that stretched to the very roof of the cavern. Rearing spiders adorned every basalt support of its winding steel fence, while the main gate of the compound sported an intricate, elegant image of the Spider Queen herself. Throughout the compound, picturesque rock gardens and lichen groves lined the walkways of the compound, and just in front of the main spire a tiny creek was spanned by an ornate bridge of granite and marble. Everywhere gargoyles lined in faerie fire watched the compound, turning House Siryddion from stunningly beautiful to the verge of gaudy. While many of the oldest houses had long since taken new, more defensible positions towards the outskirts of the noble districts, House Siryddion had refused to abandon its ancestral home.

Talaith Evnissien had studied the courtyards of the great house a dozen times and more now, waiting with thinly veiled impatience for Matron Olwyn Siryddion to grant her an audience. The matron of the third house was known to be old by any standards, and her youngest daughter was likely at least a decade older than Talaith herself. Questions constantly arose as to the ancient, reclusive matron's sanity and abilities, but to keep her five daughters in line Olwyn had to still hold some vestiges of true power.

Talaith turned back to the double steel doors of the central spire as they opened, revealing a young, attractive drow woman with silver hair tied back in a tight braid, dressed in the robes of an apprentice priestess. The young cleric bowed deeply before Talaith before standing.

"Matron Olwyn will see you now," she said quietly, already turning back into the tower. Talaith followed the girl inside, marveling at the intricate stonework that spiraled up the cavernous interior of the stalagmite. An entire history of Llyr and Lolth played out before the priestess in detailed reliefs as she levitated up the central spire behind the apprentice, rising nearly fifty feet before she reached the antechamber that led into the chapel of House Siryddion. Somewhere just above her, in gloomy holes set into the ceiling, Talaith could hear faint scratching, but the ettercaps that formed the last line of Siryddion's defense did not come out to investigate the newcomer. The apprentice led Talaith to another pair of ornate marble doors, engraved with an image of Lolth herself striking down a surface elf, then bowed out of the way. Talaith hesitated only a heartbeat before opening the darkly glittering doors and entering the enormous chapel of House Siryddion.

Across the vast, marble floored interior of Siryddion's chapel, Matron Olwyn herself sat in an obsidian and gold throne perched on the back of a low spider constructed of granite and rubies. Faerie fire lined the gargoyles and carved webs of the chapel, illuminating the chamber to the point that it nearly hurt Talaith's eyes. The priestess bowed deeply as the massive doors closed behind her, waiting for her host to receive her.

"Talaith Evnissien," Matron Olwyn said, her voice a rasping whisper that somehow sounded extremely close. "Rise, my dear. You are welcome in House Siryddion."

"Thank you, Mistress," Talaith said, standing to her full height again. Matron Olwyn gestured faintly, and the granite spider carrying her throne quickly sprang to life, scuttling across the floor with its passenger. "I am honored that you would meet with me."

"Of course you are," Matron Olwyn agreed as her spider carried her up to the younger priestess. Up close, the rumors of Matron Olwyn's age, that she was born during the ancient formation of Llyr, almost seemed true. Many matrons tried to preserve their beauty to the end, but Olwyn was a gaunt, shriveled being with dull gray hair and a sunken face. Her bones seemed to almost poke through her papery skin, and for an instant Talaith wondered if Olwyn was indeed still alive, or if she had become some sort of undead being. One look at the matron's eyes, however, showed a frightening determination and life burning in those bloody orbs. "Now," the Matron Mother began, "what brings you to my humble house?"

"A request of alliance," Talaith replied. "House Siryddion is powerful. Matron Talaith knows the truth already, that Siryddion holds the true power of Llyr. She wishes to be counted among the friends of such a powerful house, and we pledge to support you in the future."

"House Evnissien compliments me warmly," Matron Olwyn said. "But why should we align with the seventeenth house? What does House Evnissien have to offer the third house of Llyr?"

Talaith smiled faintly at that. Without a word she took the tiny pouch hanging from her belt, carefully reaching into it until half of her arm had disappeared into the magical purse. Matron Olwyn's eyes narrowed with suspicion, but before the matron could call upon a spell Talaith retrieved her gift. Kneeling before the withered mother, Talaith placed the head of Matron Vala's granddaughter on the floor.

"Brynne Caer Llion," Matron Olwyn said, recognizing the young woman's face. Then she turned to Talaith. "You wish us to make war upon Caer Llion?"

"No," Talaith answered hastily. "No, mistress, any action you take against Caer Llion is yours to decide, in your own time. House Evnissien merely wishes that you… hold their attention while other matters unfold in the city."

Matron Olwyn considered the request for a long moment, her face inscrutable in the painful faerie fire lights. Finally, however, the old woman smiled faintly.

"So House Evnissien has killed twenty-five of Vala's troops, and now comes to me for shelter," she surmised, nodding faintly. "A bold assault, but reckless. What if I refuse alliance with you? Caer Llion will view this as an insult, and may seek retribution."

"But Caer Llion will be weakened, no matter what transpires," Talaith pressed. "Matron Vala will lose a potentially powerful ally. You only stand to gain an ally in turn."

Matron Olwyn cackled, a sound that sent shivers down the younger priestess' spine.

"As you say, Caer Llion will be weakened no matter what transpires," the old matron observed, her smile showing her yellowed, decaying teeth. "Why, then, should I care about your house? You attack Hen Wyneb. They could best you, and then I am left with two houses looking to me. I might need to buy soldiers, mages, and priestesses to ward against an attack on my own house."

Talaith bit her tongue before she could offer a hasty retort. House Siryddion, despite its position as third house, held a larger army than Caer Llion, and was one of the wealthiest houses in all of Llyr. Even Matron Artaith Sy'Lian, ruler of the first house and leader of the Cyfrin-Gygnor, the Ruling Council, feared the ancient drow that Talaith faced.

"House Evnissien would be happy to provide you with the money for such contracts," Talaith reluctantly offered. Matron Saffir had known that it would come to this, and had given Talaith permission to offer as much. "We will need our troops now, but once the battle is won we will give you a quarter of any soldiers that surrender from Hen Wyneb, as well."

"Let me see your dedication to my alliance," Olwyn rasped. Talaith slowly reached into her bag of holding and produced another pouch, this one filled with a dozen square cut rubies, an handed it over to the matron. For a long moment the Matron Mother regarded the gems inside, but finally she drew the strings shut and turned a smile on the Evnissien daughter.

"Trouble yourself with Caer Llion no more," Matron Olwyn said with a gravelly laugh. "House Siryddion welcomes your alliance."


	11. Strange Bedfellows

**X**

She had feared that there would be repercussions. Now, she was certain she was going to find the extent of the damage to their alliance.

Banon Hen Wyneb hurried anxiously through the halls of Arlais-Corryn, ignoring the apprentices that scattered before her. The high priestess was far too concerned with the news that Lowri Caer Llion had sent for her as soon as she reached the academy, no doubt to discuss the terms of their alliance after the previous day's lethal assault on the second house's troops. As Banon reached the door to the Caer Llion chapel, she simply burst through the obstacle without so much as knocking. Lowri whirled on the intrusion, her and dropping to the snake whip writhing on her belt, but the priestess stayed her hand at the sight of the far larger Banon.

"Knock," the Caer Llion daughter snarled, gesturing to the open door. Banon half turned and rapped twice on the door, then slammed it shut.

"You summoned me, mistress," Banon stated, only barely bowing to the drow in front of her. Lowri nodded.

"Our alliance is over," she reported simply. Banon's jaw nearly dropped.

"What do you mean?" the Hen Wyneb asked incredulously. "It cannot be over!"

"It is over," Lowri confirmed. "House Caer Llion will have nothing more to do with Hen Wyneb."

"This is how Caer Llion repays its allies?" Banon demanded furiously. "One setback and you turn tail and run?"

"Brynne was killed, along with twenty-five of our best soldiers!" Lowri exclaimed in return. "Your house may as well have led our troops into an ambush! Your carelessness and incompetence has cost my house valuable resources!"

"You cannot just cast us off!" Banon countered sharply. "You need us as much as we need you!"

"Your doomed house is of no use to us," Lowri growled, stalking forward with her hand on her whip. "You have done nothing except cost us troops that we could have used to turn back House Siryddion. Matron Vala will not sacrifice another of her family to those that cannot secure the routes to their own house."

"We are at war!" Banon retorted. "At war with an alliance of houses!"

"An alliance that likely includes Siryddion," Lowri added simply. Banon's shock held her speechless for only a moment.

"What… what do you mean?" the Hen Wyneb asked, her stern tone tempered with her surprise.

"This morning House Siryddion has sent thirty of their soldiers, three squads led by priestesses, to, as I believe they put it, 'protect the southern entrances from deep gnome threats'," Lowri explained. "Deep gnome threats, indeed. They watch us more than they do the caverns leading to Vyskov."

"Thirty soldiers," Banon said. "Thirty soldiers and the money for a dozen more contracts, and we will bother you no more."

"We sent twenty-five already," Lowri said. Banon slammed her fist down on the nearest chair.

"They never made it!" the Hen Wyneb shrieked.

"That is your problem," Lowri countered coldly. Banon's hand dropped on instinct to the handle of her whip, but the priestess reined in her anger before she was foolish enough to attack a daughter of the Second House.

"Hen Wyneb will remember this," Banon warned. Without so much as waiting for a reply from Lowri she turned and stormed through the chapel doors, slamming them shut behind her.

* * *

The blacksmith's eyes remained fixed on the small pouch in front of him, mentally gauging the number of gold and silver coins it contained. Behind him, the blacksmith's apprentices and slaves busied themselves at the forges, pointedly ignoring the noble guest at the front of the dingy shop.

"How long have we known each other, Ithyl?" Bradwr inquired, leaning over the counter to speak to the blacksmith. Ithyl, powerfully built and covered in soot and multitude of tiny scars from flying embers and handling white hot metal for so much of his life, tore his eyes away from the pouch sitting on the sooty table. "Surely you have something for me, or shall I take my business elsewhere?"

"How much can I really know of House Evnissien?" Ithyl asked in reply, raising his callused hands in a show of helplessness. Bradwr smiled faintly at the act. He already knew that Ithyl made many of his fine weapons from the ores and finished steel that House Evnissien sold to him and several other independent smiths of the Central Market. For a blacksmith along the ash strewn alleys and dingy forges of the Metal Quarter to know nothing of the Seventeenth House was almost as unrealistic as the butchers of the Slaughter District knowing nothing of House Hen Wyneb.

"You disappoint me, Ithyl," Bradwr stated, shrugging his shoulders. He scooped up his pouch of coins from the counter. "Perhaps Powys knows more than you. And if he should be so kind as to assist me, it's possible that we may want to make quite a sizable purchase of his excellent swords…"

"That bastard makes the worst swords in Llyr!" Ithyl snapped, hurrying around the counter as Bradwr started to the door. "Hobgoblins make better weapons! He… you would take your business from my fine swords to his slag?"

"It would mean quite a bit to him, to gain such a… lucrative contract," Bradwr stated, slowing as he reached the open doorway to the Metal Quarter. The secondboy allowed himself a faint smirk; noble houses were not the only ones in Llyr to fight and squabble for power. Even the lowly blacksmiths played their own little games of power and intrigue, petty as they were. "I'm sure he would be able to purchase larger quarters, more slaves…"

"All right!" Ithyl snapped. Bradwr turned back to him.

"I knew you'd come around," the secondboy remarked, walking back to the counter and replacing the pouch of coins. Ithyl followed quickly, rushing back around the counter and reaching for the pouch. Bradwr placed his hand over the pouch before Ithyl could snatch it. "Let's hear what you have to say first," the noble prompted. Ithyl scowled faintly.

"You'll notice that I'm a little bit slow right now," the blacksmith said, glancing past Bradwr to the door. "Truth is, this last week House Evnissien has sent only two very small shipments to me, rather than their usual supplies of ore."

"Are they taking their business elsewhere?" Bradwr inquired. Ithyl shook his head.

"I thought that myself, but their ore hasn't turned up anywhere," the blacksmith countered. "And while their duergar miners can refine some of the ore, they don't have the furnaces to do so in large amounts, and they don't have the smiths to forge that ore into weapons."

"So where is the ore going?" Bradwr asked. Ithyl smiled.

"Their ore isn't going anywhere," the blacksmith explained. "It's not even coming out of the veins."

"They're not mining?" Bradwr concluded. "But, they've bought more slaves, hired more soldiers-"

"Their duergar have mutinied!" Ithyl exclaimed, barely keeping his voice from rising in excitement. "They're hiring the slaves to try and dig for more ore, while the mercenaries are trying to force the duergar back to work!"

"Mutiny?" Bradwr repeated. "How did you find out about this?"

"It wasn't easy, trust me," Ithyl said. "But when they brought those paltry shipments, I was furious. I checked to see where they were selling, but only a few other smiths had gotten any ore from Evnissien, and even then only small amounts. From there it was a simple matter of trying to track down a duergar that would know something, and fortunately, I happen to know some of those duergar."

"A duergar mutiny," Bradwr said again, considering the implications. If House Evnissien was having trouble with their duergar, they could hardly be mounting an attack of any sort against Hen Wyneb. Which meant that Fychan's offer of mutual aid to rid each other of their respective elderboys was simple coincidence. "You're sure of this?" Bradwr asked, forcing down the smile that was trying to break out on his face.

"As certain as I can be," Ithyl replied. "My source was a duergar, not a drow."

Bradwr kept his hand over the coin purse on the counter for another moment, but finally lifted his hand and started away.

"Thank you, Ithyl, you've been a great help," the secondboy said as he walked out into the streets.

"You're welcome!" Ithyl shouted after him. Bradwr did not hesitate long enough to discern if the shouts after that were from gratitude or from the blacksmith's dismay at finding only copper coins in the purse he had left; his mind was already focusing on a possible alliance with Fychan Evnissien.

* * *

"There's so much going on in this city, and yet this is where you've gotten off to?"

"I was hoping to avoid the city for the time being," Pryderi stated flatly, refusing to turn around at the sound of the voice. The Gwalchgwynn had no reason to turn to identify his newest antagonist, and his back was already torn so badly that he doubted another flogging could make his pain even worse. The few patrons of the Hidden Jewel, one of the most out of the way taverns that catered as much to hobgoblin and troglodyte mercenaries passing along the lower edges of Llyr as it did the drow of the city itself, pointedly ignored the wizard and his new guest, one or two even edging away as the male showed what could be considered an insolent attitude to a female.

"You still don't wear your _piwafwi_," Arwydd noted, her tone almost teasing. "Or are you still a member of House Gwalchgwynn?"

"For the moment, it was decided that I was of more use alive," Pryderi answered simply. The mage still refused to meet the gaze of his tormentor; it was Arwydd who had sunk him into this mess, involving him directly in an attack on the Second House of Llyr, and both Matron Morfyl and his sisters had lashed him repeatedly for his inability to see through her ruse. Pryderi was furious with his family and angry with himself for failing to see the priestess' deception for what it was, but Arwydd…

"They hurt you, didn't they?" Arwydd inquired, gently tracing her fingers along one particularly deep gash in his back. Pryderi straightened instantly at the sudden burst of pain. "I'm so sorry, Pryderi."

"You've caused enough trouble already," the wizard suddenly snapped, whirling on the priestess. Arwydd backed off a step with the sudden move, her hand dropping beneath the folds of her swirling cloak. Like Pryderi, Arwydd seemed to have an aversion to wearing the robes of her station or her house; her cape, made of translucent blue material, and the loose dress beneath it was the attire of a dancer or bard, not a noble daughter and high priestess of Lolth. "Leave me be."

"But, Pryderi, whatever do you mean?" Arwydd asked, her amusement only barely masked beneath the mock tone of confusion.

"Enough," Pryderi said, standing and brushing roughly past the priestess. In his haste to get away from her, he nearly knocked her into the bar; it was bad enough that he felt nothing but desire whenever he looked at her, but to have her mock his weakness made it far, far worse. The wizard noticed one or two of the hobgoblin patrons near the door swiftly moving out of the line of fire, but he paid them no heed as he quickly left the tavern.

"Pryderi!" Arwydd shouted, her voice stern and serious now. Pryderi turned quickly left, starting through the dark, narrow passages that would lead him up the winding, narrow passages to the Central Market. Behind him he could hear Arwydd rushing out of the tavern, trying to keep up with him. "Pryderi, _stop_!"

Pryderi could feel his muscles stiffen at the priestess' magical command. Wise or not, the wizard steeled his will against the mystical assault, forcing himself to take three more steps before he turned angrily on his antagonist. Arwydd was standing in the middle of the dark passage, a mixture of shock that he had resisted her spell and fury that he had even attempted to do such a thing written across her features.

"You have your alliance," Pryderi pointed out angrily, striding back toward her. "What more do you want from me?"

"Don't raise your voice to me, male!" Arwydd snapped, her voice rising. The priestess paused a moment, bringing herself under control. "I've killed males for lesser offenses," she warned. "Don't garner yourself another punishment atop the lines of blood that show so plainly through your robes already, wizard."

"If I were to kill you and turn myself in to Hen Wyneb, I think I would find all the shelter I need from your family," Pryderi growled, his hand dropping to the wand he kept secreted in the folds of his robes. Arwydd's shock lasted only a heartbeat before she slapped him across the face.

"One more word, male!" Arwydd snarled, shoving Pryderi into the wall as she drew her short sword from the sheath on her back. As Pryderi thumped into the wall, aggravating his injuries, the priestess' serpentine blade whipped up to his neck. "I could slit your throat and be well within my rights!"

"As long as you survive the lightning bolt," Pryderi said evenly, meeting Arwydd's furious gaze. Arwydd glanced down to see his wand only a fraction of an inch from her unprotected chest.

"You'd kill yourself," the priestess observed. "The lightning will rattle off the walls until you're nothing but a charred husk."

"It appears I'm going to die anyway," Pryderi said, glancing down meaningfully at the blade to his throat. "If I'm going to meet Lolth, you're coming with me to make the introductions."

Arwydd looked down at the wand once more, then returned her harsh stare to Pryderi. For a long moment the two remained silent and still in the alley.

"You wouldn't," the priestess decided.

"I have nothing to lose," Pryderi countered. Arwydd paused again, then smirked.

"You love me too much to do it," the priestess stated.

"You love me too much to slit my throat," Pryderi said. Once more the two paused for a long moment.

"Quite a miserable pair we make," Arwydd finally concluded, her gaze softening. Pryderi chuckled faintly.

"Quite," he agreed. He glanced down again at the blade to his throat. "You can sheathe that, then."

"You can put your wand away," Arwydd added. Pryderi smiled at the slightly shorter priestess; he might have been in love, but he was not stupid. Arwydd watched the magical weapon pointed at her for a moment before turning a coy smile on the wizard. "Well, we can't just stand here forever like this," she said.

"You're absolutely right," Pryderi affirmed. "What do you suggest, mistress?"

Arwydd's smile grew faintly as she leaned up against him. A spike of fear rose in Pryderi as her blade nicked his throat, just drawing blood, but before he could blast her with a lightning bolt the priestess kissed him with enough force to drive him back into the wall. Without letting him up, Arwydd turned her blade downward and began to cut away at the wizard's robes.

If he was to die tonight, Pryderi thought, he could think of no better way to die.

* * *

As he ascended the ramps towards the Academies of Llyr, he still could not make a decision.

Bradwr stopped at the top of the ramp, watching as the last flickers of light disappeared from Amser-Colofn. It was midnight. For hours he had roamed through Llyr's market districts, slowly making his way to the academies as he struggled with the possible options. House Evnissien could not be behind the looming war with his house. They had problems of their own, dealing with a rebellion underneath their own house. The duergar were nothing if not fierce warriors, and if they had seized control of House Evnissien's mines the seventeenth house as in for a tough fight indeed. Fychan, then, could not have been trying to set him up in preparation for an overall attack.

But the problem remained that the threat was coming from somewhere. Those who spoke of it at all whispered Brenin Llywd's name; the fourteenth house feared their immediate rival, and striking at houses of lower rank was a sure way of maintaining power. Brenin Llywd had hired more soldiers, and seemed to be preparing for something. The fourteenth house was a powerful enemy, and should Hen Wyneb lose Maddox, a powerful and talented caster, it could tip the scales in Brenin Llywd's favor.

Bradwr shook his head in frustration at that. Every house faced a constant threat from its rivals; he could not let fear of his house's demise stay his hand. Maddox was powerful, yes, but he was not the most pivotal player in the possible war to come. Hen Wyneb retained the services of several mages, and even their new arrival, Collwen, was a force to be reckoned with. Indeed, should battle arise, Maddox could be countered by a simple spell of silence cast by an apprentice priestess. Bradwr could not take his brother in a straight fight, that much was certain, but in the chaos of swirling melee a wizard could easily be laid low by nothing more than a single poisoned dart or javelin. If it did come to war, Bradwr would be more important than his brother, as he was not limited to a handful of spells and maybe one wand. Magic was powerful, but fleeting; steel was strong and steady.

Bradwr turned away from Amser-Colofn, looking to the twisting spire of Llyfrdy-Lledreth. Idly he wondered if Fychan was inside that tower, or if he had been recalled to his house to face the brutal, stony duergar. Hesitantly at first, but then with more purpose, the secondboy made his way across the plaza to the Wizards' Academy, banging loudly on the steel of the arched double doors. Despite the late hour, a young apprentice appeared within moments. The boy looked up at the warrior for a moment in surprise.

"Sir?" the apprentice asked.

"I'm looking for Fychan Evnissien," Bradwr said. "Is he here?"

"Yes sir," the apprentice answered. "Wait in the foyer, please."

Bradwr followed the boy into the spartan foyer of the academy. The boy gestured to one of the uncomfortable looking chairs of wood that stood against the far wall, but disappeared through another set of doors before even seeing if the secondboy had done just that. Bradwr remained standing, waiting in the center of the small, circular chamber, for only a short while before a slightly haggard and confused Fychan entered the room.

"Bradwr," the Evnissien said, a look of surprise coming to his face. "I… wasn't expecting company at this hour."

"I needed to talk to you," Bradwr explained. Fychan arched an eyebrow.

"About something regarding magic?" the wizard asked. Bradwr shook his head.

"About your offer from the other day," the Hen Wyneb clarified. "Are you still interested?"

Fychan's smile was all the answer Bradwr needed.


	12. Betrayals

**XI**

"Sometimes I wonder why we bother with such concepts as 'morning'. It's not like we'll see the sun."

"It keeps things ordered," Maddox said, sitting across from Romney as the mercenary regarded the cavern ceiling high above them. Amser-Colofn's fire was barely visible from his seat at a small café set on a slightly raised plateau in the Central Market, burning only on the lowest quarter of the pillar, if that high. "Much as I enjoy the pleasantries, you sent word that you had important information for me."

"I do," Romney agreed wit a nod. "But as I said, my information does not come cheap."

"I am aware of that," Maddox said, placing a pair of stones on the table. Romney quickly snatched up the sapphires, carefully appraising one of them for a long moment.

"This is Caer Llion's handiwork," the mercenary observed. He smiled as he placed the gems back on the table underneath his hand. "I suppose you received them before the disaster in the artisans' district?"

"Do they satisfy your price?" Maddox inquired curtly, ignoring Romney's question. The mercenary considered the price for a moment.

"Maybe one more," Romney said, stroking his chin in thought. Maddox scowled, but took another of the sapphires from his belt pouch and tossed it across the table. Romney caught the gem and quickly placed it with the others under his hand. "Your inquiry began with your suspicion of Brenin Llywd," the mercenary began. "Do you still think it is the fourteenth house?"

"We don't know," Maddox answered. "What little information we have points to them. Except the shadowdancer."

"You're right," Romney said. "What little information can be found does point to Brenin Llywd."

"Then it is Eirian?" Maddox assumed. Romney smiled as he shook his head.

"They are involved, but they are not the prime house," the rogue answered. "They have supplied arms, soldiers, and money to another house."

"Who?" Maddox asked urgently.

"Who employs a shadowdancer?" Romney inquired in reply. Maddox paused for a moment, unwilling to make the connection. Why would Blodyn-tywell attack them? "Other than the seventh house," Romney clarified, seeing the wizard's distress.

"We don't know," Maddox answered. "Why play games? I've given you your payment. Tell me who it is!"

"Have you heard of House Evnissien?" Romney queried, leaning back slightly.

"Evnissien?" Maddox echoed. "They… the seventeenth house plots against _us_?"

"It was very interesting," Romney said. "They have kept it quite a secret. Matron Saffir has had a shadowdancer in her employ for almost a full year, and no one has realized it. This Cadwared has been most careful to conceal his true identity. One of my operatives has had a rather lengthy affair with a commoner in House Evnissien's employ. She was reluctant at best to part with the information, but part with it she did. Oh, and consider the fact that you'll have one less priestess to deal with in your coming assault to be a favor for a faithful customer."

"But they are at war with their duergar," Maddox countered, ignoring Romney's gift of a slain priestess. "Or so Bradwr's contacts say."

"Yes, they do say that," Romney agreed with a smirk. "But trust me, it is all illusions. And a rather cunning one, I might add. Just enough rumors to make it sound real, but not so much that the truth of it is doubted. Matron Saffir has done well, so far."

"You're sure about this," Maddox said. "All of this. The rumors, the shadowdancer, everything."

"I wouldn't take your money if I wasn't," Romney answered. "After all, if I were remiss in my duties, no one would hire me."

"We'll need your mercenaries," Maddox said. Romney's smirk widened faintly.

"You'll need more money," the rogue pointed out.

"You'll get it," Maddox promised. The wizard stood quickly. "If you'll excuse me."

"Oh, of course," Romney said, standing as well. Without another word, Maddox quickly exited the tavern and disappeared down into the throngs of the Central Market.

* * *

"Matron Mother, can I speak with you?"

"If it is about our plans, Arwydd, you may speak," Saffir Evnissien said, appraising the map of the Hen Wyneb compound that Naomhin had given her. In the dim light of the Evnissnien study, the Matron's eyes were glued to the detailed layout of the rival house. Talaith and Rhonwen flanked the matron, Talaith lost in thought and Rhonwen showing the faintest hint of contempt for the slightly younger noble daughter.

"It does, to an extent, concern our plans," Arwydd began hesitantly. She had hoped to find the matron alone, not with Talaith and especially not with that toady Rhonwen. The matter of Pryderi Gwalchgwynn was hardly one that she wanted to share with her vicious older sister or the spiteful handmaiden. Matron Saffir glanced up at her daughter for a moment.

"Then you may speak," she reiterated. Arwydd paused for a moment. Talaith regarded her sister for a moment, then turned to the matron.

"Tybalt says he is on schedule," Talaith said. Matron Saffir turned to her. "They should have everything completed within the next two cycles of Amser-Colofn."

"Good," Saffir said. "Much as I am loathe to depend upon a dwarf, their success or failure could determine the entire battle."

"Then perhaps we should send drow with them," Rhonwen suggested. Saffir shook her head.

"We will need every slave and drow we have to assault the main gate," the matron mother explained, pointing to the map. "Especially with Brenin Llywd's withdrawal, we do not have the troops to spare them reinforcements."

"We can trust Tybalt," Talaith surmised. "He is tactless, but he is as skilled in combat as he is in mining."

"Perhaps we should use some of Gwalchgwynn's soldiers to reinforce them," Rhonwen said, looking up to Arwydd. "Can they supply a dozen or so?"

"I… don't know, for certain," Arwydd answered. Was Rhonwen smirking at her?

"Pryderi proved most useful in our fight against Care Llion," Talaith added. "We could use the services of that wizard. Especially if Fychan cannot remove Maddox before the battle."

"Yes, another powerful wizard would be useful," Saffir observed, giving Talaith a nod of approval. Then she turned an expectant glance to Arwydd. "I would like to have Pryderi join this battle with us."

"I… don't know if… if that can be arranged, for certain," Arwydd faltered.

"We could use Pryderi and Fychan here," Talaith said, turning her attention back to the map. "They will be exposed to the sentries for a moment, but Fychan… will know how to get by unscathed."

"Fychan… sentries?" Arwydd stammered. More than anyone else, Fychan would be certain to sacrifice Pryderi for his own well being. "Matron mother…"

"We will minimize our losses that way," Saffir explained. "And if Gwalchgwynn were to lose a talented elderboy, it only means that they will need us that much more."

"I want him," Arwydd blurted out. Matron Saffir, Talaith, and Rhonwen all turned to the youngest priestess.

"I know," Saffir growled out, a vicious smile coming to her face.

Arwydd barely realized the trap had sprung before she was caught. Crushing pain shot up through her legs as a pair of stone hands burst from the study floor and grabbed her ankles, holding her in place as her mother and sister advanced around the table on her. Arwydd's hands went to her weapons, ready to draw her whip and sword, but cables of stone shot up from the ground and snared her wrists, pulling her arms back painfully behind her body. Held helpless by the earthen manacles, Arwydd could only watch as her family slowly circled her.

"I trusted you to be our emissary to House Gwalchgwynn," Saffir hissed, turning her furious gaze on Arwydd. "I trusted you to show discretion and use good judgment. And this is how you repay me?"

"Mistress, I... I don't know what you're talking about!" Arwydd tried. Rhonwen let out a sinister chuckle as she took the noble's whip from her belt. To her amazement, not a single snake head moved to bite the commoner as she circled behind the bound noble.

"You would risk our house for a simple night of pleasure with him!" Matron Saffir snapped, slapping her daughter across the face. "You have let yourself be trapped by a mere male, from a lower house! Had any but Cadwared witnessed your indiscretions, our plans could have been destroyed!"

"But… he's mine, I'm not his!" Arwydd tried, glancing over her shoulder to see Rhonwen preparing to strike her with her own whip. Matron Saffir said nothing, but gently lifted Pryderi's pendant from beneath her robes. Arwydd stiffened as her mother examined the sparkling opal.

"Is he," Saffir said. Without warning she ripped the pendant free of Arwydd's neck with a painful snap. "Then tell me, dear child, what enchantment has he placed upon this pendant?"

"I… detected nothing other than a faint aura of protection," Arwydd replied hesitantly.

There was nothing more than a faint hiss to warn her of the attack. Still held fast by the stone, Arwydd shrieked in pain as her own whip bit into her back, nearly tumbling forward but held fast by her bonds. Stunned that her own whip would turn against her, Arwydd looked over her shoulder in shock. Her momentary glance revealed the commoner's smug, icy smile, but her vision burst into a bright explosion of pain as her mother's whip ripped through her robes and tore into her unprotected chest.

"You barely tried!" Saffir bellowed, catching her daughter by the throat as she rocked backward. The matron's gripped tightened to a steely vise around Arwydd's neck, leaving her gasping desperately for air that would not come. "How could a daughter of mine be so stupid? Why is it that Rhonwen is a commoner and you, frail, impulsive, nothing more than a rogue if not for my blood in your veins, are my daughter?"

Darkness started to eat away at the edges of Arwydd's vision. Frantically she struggled against the earthen restraints and her mother's iron grip, but Saffir dragged her forward

"You are a disgrace," the matron hissed. She shoved Arwydd back, finally releasing her daughter.

Arwydd barely had time to gasp for breath before Rhonwen struck her again, cackling viciously as the noble's back was ripped open and the snakes' poison triggered horrible, painful spasms. If not for her bonds she would have fallen to the ground, but instead she was held perfectly in the path of Saffir's whip as it bit into her chest only inches from her exposed throat. Again and again the two priestesses pummeled her, until tears of pain ran down her cheeks and her robes had been reduced to nothing more than tatters soaked in her own blood. Barely coherent, twitching madly, and sobbing in pain, the humiliated noble fell to the ground, barely aware that her manacles had dissolved back into the study floor.

"You will not betray our alliance to Gwalchgwynn and our plans to attack Hen Wyneb because you _want_ him," the Matron said, her voice cold and even. "Even a commoner such as Rhonwen knows to hold her emotions in check at such a crucial time. Other houses know that Gwalchgwynn has quietly moved troops to an unknown ally. You, of all people, should realize the implications of your tryst, daughter."

"Yes, mistress," Arwydd whispered, her breath coming in ragged gasps. As she wiped at the tears in her eyes, the opal pendant fell to the stones in front of her.

"You were right," Matron Saffir said. "There is nothing more than the most base of protection enchantments on that. But you would do well to satisfy your suspicions with more than a simple, rushed cantrip."

Arwydd lay on the cold stones for a long moment, listening as her family walked out of the study and slammed the door shut. Finally, the young priestess agonizingly drew herself up to her knees, holding the torn remnants of her robes together as she tried to force her muscles to stop twitching. Slowly, with shaking, bloodstained hands, Arwydd crept forward and reclaimed Pryderi's gift.

* * *

"Are you sure he'll come this way?"

"I'm certain," Fychan replied, sounding faintly annoyed with the question. Bradwr glanced around the narrow alley, taking stock of his surroundings once again. It was truly one of the poorest of Llyr's districts, home to the decrepit, the elderly, the free unskilled laborers, and, more importantly to the secondboy, a large number of cutthroats desperate enough to dare attacking a noble. Such dire elements were a double edged sword; although they may provide an alibi for the secondboy's murder, they could just as easily attack Fychan or even Bradwr himself at the height of battle. For the moment, however, the crumbling homes and once elegant statues and spires were silent and still, holding no immediate threat for the two conspirators. Only vaguely satisfied with his safety, Bradwr turned back to Fychan.

"You'd better be right," the Hen Wyneb said, glancing up and down the narrow street. Fychan turned back to him, an irritated look on his face.

"Your brother's most potent nondetection spells are fixed in location," the wizard stated. "That means that when he's outside your house or his laboratory at Llyfrdy-Lledreth, it's far easier to track him. And he's coming through this way, I can assure you of that. Now find a place to hide, or be ready to greet your brother when he comes down this alley."

"How much time do we have?" Bradwr asked nervously. Fychan smirked.

"Not long at all," the wizard answered, disappearing into an alcove. As he vanished into the darkness, Bradwr turned back to the direction that Fychan had indicated his brother would be traveling.

He almost jumped as he saw Maddox turn the corner, appearing in the alley just as Fychan had predicted. The elderboy's steps were hurried and he seemed nervous, a trait that only increased as Maddox spied his younger brother lurking along the edge of the street.

"Bradwr?" Maddox said, stunned to find the secondboy in such a dismal place. "What are you doing here?"

"Daere said you had gone out alone again," Bradwr lied, quickly improvising a story. "I couldn't wait for you to return to the compound. I've been searching the entire city for you!"

"There's no time to lose," Maddox said, apparently believing his brother's story for the moment. "We have to get back to the house immediately!"

"Brother, there might be plots against you," Bradwr said hastily, trying to keep his brother in the alley just a moment longer. "House Brenin-"

"House Brenin Llywd is not our enemy!" Maddox countered anxiously.

"How can that be?" Bradwr demanded. The secondboy's stomach tightened into a knot. If it was not Brenin Llywd, and no other house had seemingly taken any action against Hen Wyneb…

Maddox' eyes went wide as the elderboy looked past his brother. The wizard raised his hands to cast, but before he had mouthed even a single syllable the two brothers were plunged into silence. His eyes wide, the wizard turned to Bradwr to try somehow to warn his brother of the impending attack by House Hen Wyneb's true enemy.

Bradwr's sword flew free of its sheath. Before he had truly registered the impact his actions would have, the secondboy spun in a quick, tight circle, ripping through Maddox' robes, protective wards, and flesh all at once. The center of Fychan's spell of silence was the younger Hen Wyneb's shield, and as Maddox staggered away from his treacherous brother Bradwr kept as close as possible, forcing the two to remain in silence.

_It's them! It's Evnissien!_ Maddox screamed through the silence. Bradwr could easily read his brother's lips, but even as he tried to point to the secondboy's ally Bradwr struck another grievous blow, ripping his brother open almost from shoulder to hip. Stumbling backward, covered in his own blood, Maddox threw his hands forward suddenly, unleashing a brilliant bolt of lightning through his brother. Bradwr was hurled backward and to the ground by the ferocious assault, his hearing quickly returning as he tumbled to the ground in a smoking heap. Behind him he could hear Fychan moaning in pain; Maddox had been savvy enough to catch both of them in the destructive bolt's path. For a long moment both Maddox and Bradwr staggered to their feet, each one severely wounded. Bradwr glanced behind him, but Fychan had collapsed to the ground, silent and still except for the smoke rolling off of him.

"You idiot," Maddox snarled, using the wall to brace himself as he stood. "What in the Abyss are you doing?"

"Your time is at an end, brother," Bradwr threatened, using his sword to help him stand. He stumbled a moment as he stood, but righted himself quickly. "It's time for me to become elderboy."  
"We are on the eve of war!" Maddox exclaimed. He pointed to Fychan. "With them!"

Another bolt of lightning tore through Bradwr, hurling him back to the ground in convulsions of maddening pain. The warrior staggered back to his feet, raising his sword and shield to protect himself from any more of Maddox' assaults, but to his surprise he found his brother slumped against the wall in a smoking heap. Quickly Bradwr turned back to his ally as Fychan struggled to his feet.

"You hit me, you idiot!" the warrior exclaimed. Fychan nodded faintly.

"I know," he said. "You were in the way. But he's dead now. We have nothing more to fear from him."

Bradwr's eyes narrowed ever so slightly as he sheathed his sword. Slowly his hand fell to the pair of poisoned darts on his belt just behind the hilt of his weapon. Fychan was trying to keep himself steady, but the warrior could suddenly see his lips moving…

Bradwr leapt to the side, trying to avoid his enemy's attack, but four streaks of eldritch energy followed him unerringly. Bradwr growled in pain as the magic missiles punched through his back, drawing and throwing his first dart as he dove for cover into an adjacent alcove. He could not tell if he had hit Fychan or not with his errant throw, but for a long moment the alley fell into an uneasy silence. As he waited, Bradwr scoured his belongings, quickly coming up wit a small vial of clear liquid. With a quick splash over the worst of his burns, the wounds began to mend, but the simple healing water was not nearly powerful enough to counteract the massive damage of two lightning bolts. With his still serious injuries, Bradwr could only hope that Fychan had suffered enough from Maddox' lightning bolt to retreat rather than continue the fight. Cautiously, drawing his sword once more, Bradwr edged up to the corner of the alcove and glanced into the alley.

The lightning bolt wads on the way as soon as he had peered around the edge. Bradwr somehow managed to duck back behind cover as the bolt slammed into the wall, jolting him faintly but thankfully rebounding off of the wall to slam into the other side of the alley. With only a moment to gather his wits the warrior sprinted out into the alley, just as a fireball thundered out from Fychan's outstretched hands. The explosion set Bradwr's cloak on fire and threw the Hen Wyneb to the ground, but Bradwr rolled back to his feet as he ducked into a crossing passageway and sprinted away from his enemy. Badly wounded or not, there was too much distance between the two combatants to risk a charge, not when Fychan likely had enough magic left to kill the already injured warrior. At the end of the passage Bradwr turned left quickly, racing through the heart of Llyr's poorest districts, stripping off his smoking _piwafwi_ and winding through the hobgoblin district, until he finally raced up one last flight of stone steps into the Central Markets.

Bradwr finally stopped, leaning against a stall set near the steps that had led him up from the poor districts. Fychan was nowhere to be seen behind him; the wizard may have been able to cast spells, but he had been too badly wounded to attempt a chase. Slowly, the new elderboy of Hen Wyneb stood straight, a smile growing on his face. He had finally gotten rid of his arrogant older brother, and he had the perfect alibi. He had attained the position he had desired from the time he was old enough to understand his station.

Fychan, the treacherous sorcerer who had killed his brother, would be finished soon enough.


	13. The Calm

**XII**

"Maddox is dead? You're certain?"

"I am," Bradwr answered, ignoring the worst of the pain from the electrical burns across his body as he stood before Matron Ceridwen. "Even if he was still alive when I was forced away, Evnissien's agents most certainly assured that he was dead."

"House Evnissien," Llawr said thoughtfully, pondering the valuable information that Bradwr had brought back. The new elderboy of Hen Wyneb, Ceridwen's only surviving son, had thanked Lolth a dozen times or more for giving him that information; the knowledge had saved him from a far more brutal interrogation at the matron's hands, or worse yet, Daere. Even now the second daughter watched Bradwr warily from her place at Ceridwen's left side. She had lost her truest ally in the house, and Bradwr could see the suspicion behind her cold glare. Banon, usually Ceridwen's closest advisor, was conspicuously absent. "An interesting twist. I suppose they hoped for the element of surprise in their rise to power."

"They achieved it," Matron Ceridwen said, "but now we know our enemy. We will be able to prepare for them, and hopefully strike back before they realize the knowledge we possess."

"Fychan Evnissien knows that I escaped," Bradwr pointed out. "He will be quick to return to his house and warn them of what we have learned."

"Meaning we can expect their assault in the next few days," Llawr concluded.

"They will need to rush their attack," Ceridwen observed. "This gives us the advantage. We have more soldiers."

"They have been busy in the markets," Daere said. "This one has told us of their duergar rebellion," she continued, a derisive note sneaking into her voice as she nodded to her brother, "but I believe that those rumors must be false if they truly plan to attack us."

"It doesn't matter," Llawr pointed out. "Rebellion or not, we must either strike quickly against them or prepare for the attack that we know will be coming. And we must find a way to replace Maddox. He was one of our most powerful casters."

"Bradwr," Matron Ceridwen said. The new elderboy tensed at the mention of his name.

"Yes, Matron Mother," he answered.

"You are dismissed," Ceridwen said. "Leave us. Daere will see to your injuries."

"Thank you, Matron Mother," Bradwr said, bowing as much as his wounds would allow. Swiftly he turned and started out of the chapel, Daere following only a few steps behind. As the two siblings exited and shut the doors behind them, Daere turned to her younger brother.

"You found him in the squatters' districts," the priestess said, her voice icy and even.

"That is where he was," Bradwr answered, calm in spite of his sister's obvious menace. Daere's hand was near the hilt of her snake whip, and the five heads of the weapon seemed to fix their eyes on the new elderboy.

"And what was he doing there?" Daere asked. "What were you doing there, dear brother?"

"I was looking for him, as I told the Matron Mother," Bradwr answered coolly. "As for what he was doing there… I don't know what business he might have had in such a place. I had searched everywhere for him, and the squatters' districts was the only place I had not checked. Call it luck that I found him there."

"The worst kind of luck," Daere agreed. Bradwr allowed himself a faint sigh of relief as the priestess seemed to accept his answer, and started to turn to the hall leading away from the chapel doors.

Daere was suddenly on him, spinning him around with a sidearm strike of her whip. The snakes' fangs bit into his shoulder even through his chain mail, forcing him to turn back to the enraged priestess. Before he could draw a weapon, Daere had pinned her slightly smaller brother against the wall, an ornate spider dagger at his throat. Bradwr's eyes remained fixed on the four awl shaped blades of the weapon for only a moment before Daere's voice snapped his attention back to her.

"You set him up, didn't you?" the priestess snarled. "You set him up to die at the hands of our very enemies!"

Bradwr glanced nervously down to the dagger again.

"If he was a true elderboy, he would have seen the dangers of his path," Bradwr said, as close to a direct confession as he would ever come for the enraged priestess. Daere's eyes widened in fury as she began to lean forward on the dagger. "What would Matron Ceridwen say if you killed her only remaining son?" Bradwr asked hastily. The dagger still pressed against his throat, and he could feel the sharp points of the blades break his skin. "On the eve of war with House Evnissien, and one son already dead? How would we fare?"

Daere stopped, but Bradwr could already feel blood running down his neck.

"You are as responsible for Maddox' death as that Evnissien wizard," the priestess growled, leaning close to her brother. "We do need you, for now. But don't think I'll forget this, elderboy."

Daere pulled her dagger away, and let Bradwr up from against the wall. Curtly she turned and started to stalk away.

"With Maddox dead, you'll need allies if you wish to take the throne from Banon one day," Bradwr called out behind her. Daere stopped, but refused to turn back. "Perhaps, if you're nice to me, dear sister, I would be willing to aid in your own rise to power."

Daere hesitated for a long moment in the hallway. Bradwr could practically feel the priestess' rage rolling off of her in waves. Finally, she took another step, determined to leave her remaining brother behind.

"Sister," Bradwr called out again, thoroughly enjoying the brief moment of power over the indomitable second daughter of Hen Wyneb. Daere froze once again, still not turning back to him.

"What?" she snapped, refusing to face her brother.

"I believe right now, your duties are to heal me."

* * *

"Our assault will have to be undertaken within the next day or two." 

"Perhaps Fychan should have waited to attack Maddox," Naomhin said, looking out over the city of Llyr from the lower balconies of the Evnissien compound. Through the gloom of the great cavern the elderboy could see the diminutive faerie fire sculptures of the merchant houses that occupied the northern stretches of the drow city, and the distant lights of House Brenin Llywd. Naomhin's eyes settled on that noble house for a long moment, remembering easily how they had abandoned Evnissien so recently.

"Fychan's attack was necessary," Athruis countered, his voice quiet and stern. Naomhin turned away from the city to face House Evnissien's weaponmaster, standing over a low table lit by candles in what was normally the training room for the house's noble children. It was in that bare room, adorned with nothing more than mats to cushion falls and racks of weapons both blunted and sharp, that the elderboy had spent so much of his young life, learning at the feet of a warrior that could easily have found a place among the higher houses of Llyr as a respected captain, if not a weaponmaster. "Maddox was too great a threat to be allowed to take part in the battle."

"I don't disagree," Naomhin said, "but it could have been undertaken once we were ready to attack."

"He took the chance he was afforded, Naomhin," Athruis said, his eyes still on the table. Naomhin rejoined his father, looking over the detailed map of House Hen Wyneb that the elderboy himself had drawn. "A good warrior adapts. They are more off balance than we. A swift, well planned attack will bring us victory, if our courage holds."

"Courage, and strategy," Naomhin added as he studied the map. "Hen Wyneb still has a talented weaponmaster, several other wizards to take Maddox' place, and three daughters."

"Only two of whom are high priestesses," Athruis amended. "They will not be ready, and hopefully, your younger sister will gain the services of a mage that rivals Maddox' power."

"Pryderi?" Naomhin assumed. Uncommon for his devious sister, Arwydd had been clumsy at best in her handling of her desire to bed the elderboy of House Gwalchgwynn. If Cadwared's reports had been correct, however, Pryderi was as smitten with Arwydd as the priestess was with the sorcerer, giving Evnissien an edge in gaining a powerful spellcaster essentially for no cost.

"We'll need him," Athruis said quietly. Naomhin nodded in agreement. "You know your place in this battle?"

"I'm leading the main assault," Naomhin said, slightly nervous of his position but all too eager to join the battle. The main assault would batter the gate of House Hen Wyneb, no doubt guarded by mystical and mundane traps as well as the bulk of the fifteenth house's soldiers. It would be a lethal, dangerous battle, but with Arwydd and other priestesses in the force with him and his hand picked soldiers, Naomhin had little doubt that he would survive the rapidly approaching attack.

"Yes," Athruis said, gesturing to the map. "Your force will break the gate. Fychan will lead a second force, smaller, to breach the fence here, well away from your assault, and hopefully crush the defenders between our forces and the duergar."

"Duergar," Naomhin echoed. Even the name of their dwarven allies made his stomach turn with disgust.

"Do not underestimate the gray ones," the weaponmaster said. "They are dangerous, and I far prefer them fighting with us, rather than against us."

"And what of you?" Naomhin inquired, looking to his father.

"I will bring a small strike force into the compound," Athruis replied. "I will meet you inside the gates."

Naomhin nodded, considering the possibilities. Athruis was his father, an impressive fighter to say the least, and a more than capable strategist. He had sealed his position as house weaponmaster even after losing the favor of Matron Saffir as patron. But weaponmaster was a far more prestigious position than elderboy, and to take his place as Evnissien's chief warrior would secure Naomhin's position if Talaith ever toppled her mother or Fychan looked to become elderboy of the house himself…

"I see your ambitions in your eyes, Naomhin," Athruis said, startling the elderboy from his thoughts. "Some night you may very well replace me, but tonight will not be the night."

"You are a valuable asset to the family," Naomhin said, dropping his eyes to the table. "I would be foolish to wish to see you gone."

"You would be foolish not to be ambitious," Athruis countered sternly. "But you must temper your ambition with caution. You are not ready to be a weaponmaster, and you are certainly not ready to kill me."

Naomhin could only nod in agreement with his father. Few, if any, drow ever died of old age. It was the way of Llyr, beyond even the teachings of the Spider Queen, that the strong kill the weak, and it was this main tenet that had allowed the drow to flourish in their harsh subterranean world. Athruis, stony and emotionless, seemed to understand this point far more than many, and almost welcomed the daily challenges to survival that his station and role created. Still, Athruis held nothing back in training his son, and Naomhin suspected that, if the weaponmaster were ever to fall in combat, he would prefer his death come at the hands of his own child.

"Your troops are prepared?" Athruis asked, snapping the elderboy from his musings.

"They are," Naomhin answered.

"Then go," Athruis said. "You have the gate. Do not fail."

Naomhin nodded, already starting for the doors from the training room. The house gate was his assault. The most dangerous assault of any siege.

He would not have accepted a lesser honor.

* * *

"Arwydd?" 

"Mistress," Arwydd corrected, taking a seat across from Pryderi in the Hidden Jewel. Pryderi could easily note the normally alluring priestess' stiff gait and the wince of pain as she lowered herself into her chair. Although he fought to hide it, a faint smirk tugged at his lips.

"You seem to be in some discomfort," Pryderi noted. A few tiny patches of blood showed through her loose burgundy gown as darker patches where the dress clung to her. Arwydd, for her part, looked down at the table.

"Matron Saffir requests your presence in the siege against Hen Wyneb," the priestess informed him, her voice low. Pryderi arched an eyebrow.

"Matron Saffir seems to always request me," the wizard stated. "Is this another trap, to implicate me against some greater house?"

"You are a powerful wizard," Arwydd explained. "We have removed Maddox, but to add one more wizard such as you can greatly improve our chances of a clean victory."

"And what does matron Morfyl gain for risking her elderboy, such a powerful wizard that he is, on a house siege?" Pryderi inquired.

"An alliance with a house that can help Gwalchgwynn remove their own enemies," Arwydd answered. A definite note of irritability and misery found its way to her voice. Pryderi's smirk widened ever so slightly.

"Perhaps it would be in my house's best interests to see more eyes turned against Evnissien," the wizard surmised. Arwydd's eyes rose from the table, anger beginning to edge her delicate features. "Perhaps we should even withdraw our troops…"

"Enough!" Arwydd exclaimed, her voice rising sharply. The priestess made a move to stand, but her evident injuries forced her to stop and inhale with the pain.

"You have seen the whip," Pryderi surmised. Arwydd's fury dropped into humiliation. "Why not simply heal yourself?"

"I… am not permitted," the priestess said, speaking in a whisper. "Matron Saffir has intervened so that my prayers will not be answered. Because of you."

"I see," Pryderi said. The wizard paused for a moment as he considered the young woman before him. He could have used her confession to his advantage, forcing her to submit to his will in any way possible. But, in the end, an alliance with House Evnissien was in the best interest of House Gwalchgwynn. "Fear not, mistress," the wizard stated. "You will have me by your side in the coming battle."

Arwydd tried to replace her glum mood with a half amused smirk, but all Pryderi could see was a genuine smile of relief.

* * *

"Tybalt!" 

"We have little time to speak, mistress!" the stocky mine boss growled out, his voice barely audible over the cries of slaves and the constant ringing of picks and the metal claws of the monstrosities the duergar had summoned. The mine tunnels, almost three hundred feet below House Evnissien, swirled with choking dust and echoed with the sounds of frantic work. As she followed the mine boss through the tunnel, the priestess could see the bodies of less fortunate slaves piled in mounds of a dozen or more from diminutive kobolds to the rare brutish ogre, their blood coagulating quickly in the rock powder or leaking into cracks in the earth. "Your tunnel burrows through dense stone!"

"Tybalt!" Talaith shouted angrily, following the ghostly dwarf through the haze and the darkness. The clouds of dust stung her eyes to the point of tears and forced her to wear a heavy silk scarf over her mouth and nose to allow her to breathe, but the slaves of the duergar had no such protection as they toiled in the shaft. Tybalt finally turned back to the priestess, a thoroughly annoyed expression on his filthy features. "How long before the tunnel is completed?"

"Tomorrow, as you wished," Tybalt answered curtly. The dwarf turned back to his taskmasters, but Talaith grabbed the far shorter mine boss by his arm.

"We need it in ten hours, maybe less!" Talaith shouted over a resounding crash somewhere ahead. Tybalt's bloodshot eyes squinted in confusion. "By the night!" Talaith screamed, striving to be heard over the din.

"You said tomorrow!" Tybalt shouted back.

"Things have changed!" Talaith yelled, wishing the mine boss would have met her where she did not have to fight to be heard over the racket. "The tunnel must be finished by night!"

"We cannot do it!" Tybalt hollered. "I told you, this stone is too dense!"

"The faithful of the Taskmaster, unable to complete a task?" Talaith asked. Tybalt's grimy beard could not hide the furious scowl that came to his face.

"We cannot do it with what we have!" the duergar snarled back. Talaith reached into the folds of the heavy cloak protecting her fine clothing from the disgusting mine, and flipped a pouch to the mine boss. Tybalt caught it with an angry flick of his wrist, and peered into the velvet for a moment.

"Incentive," Talaith stated as Tybalt looked back to her.

"Do not expect to see any of these slaves again," the mine boss growled, his voice only barely audible in the mine. Talaith glanced back to the closest pile of corpses, and shrugged.

"I don't think the Matron will miss a single one of these miserable creatures," the priestess stated. "Finish the tunnel."

* * *

"You sent for me, mistress.""I did," Banon said, not looking away from the balcony that overlooked the Hen Wyneb compound. Behind her lay Maddox' room, while before her, the inhabitants of her house scurried to prepare for the coming siege. House Evnissien had somehow managed to secure the upper hand in their private war, and now Hen Wyneb was left to scramble to defend their home. Bradwr's information that identified their enemy was indeed valuable, but now, it seemed too little, too late to the eldest daughter of Hen Wyneb. The war would come to their compound. Even if they survived Evnissien's assault, they would be left weak, an easy target for Brenin Llywd, Lainbhui, or Maredudd. Banon shook the thoughts from her head. "It has been told that you are a fairly powerful spellcaster." 

"I am," Collwen said, still waiting for the priestess to turn and acknowledge her. Banon watched the courtyard for another moment, seeing Bradwr's newest recruits, a hundred kobold slaves, entered the Hen Wyneb compound through the imposing house gate. Finally, Banon turned from the spectacle below to face her guest.

"We will need powerful mages in the coming nights," Banon explained, eyeing the mage for a long moment. Collwen was faintly taller than her, her fire scarred face showing nothing but professional disinterest at the conversation. "Maddox had several items, some of them powerful enough possibly to change the course of a coming battle."

"He was a powerful wizard," Collwen said, her praise of the late elderboy courteous enough to pass for genuine. Banon hesitated for a long moment. She despised the thought of needing to trust a newly hired sorceress with such arcane items, but the outcome of their conflict with Evnissien was still in far too much doubt. Collwen may try to steal the items and sneak into the darkness before House Evnissien even showed at their gates, but there wee precious few other wizards in the house that could wield Maddox' wands and scrolls to any great effect. The title of house mage had gone to a loyal male of great power and standing within the house, but he possessed enough of his own eldritch relics to hold his own in the coming battle. Collwen could only benefit from Maddox' hoard, and if she did remain loyal, Hen Wyneb would be the better for it.

"You may take anything in this room that you feel will aid you," Banon finally said, fighting hard to keep her voice cool and polite. Collwen's eyes widened only the faintest bit before she regained her composure. "Be ready within an hour. You will not be allowed in these quarters again."

"Thank you, mistress," the sorceress said, a hint of surprise and gratitude sneaking into her voice. Banon nodded slightly as she pushed past Collwen and out of Maddox' chambers.

As she made her way back to the ground and the mass of commoners and soldiers in within Hen Wyneb's mighty fence, Banon could only hope that her final preparations would be enough to soundly defeat the inevitable siege.


	14. The Storm, Part One

**XIII**

House sieges were not a truly common occurrence in Llyr. At their most frequent, in times of intense upheaval, they might occur once in a decade; normally they were separated by twice that time or more. But somehow, on the night of a siege every noble, commoner, and slave in Llyr seemed to sense the coming storm.

"They're very vigilant," Arwydd whispered, watching the gates of House Hen Wyneb. "Almost like they know we're coming."

"They know," Naomhin confirmed, keeping his voice low as he glanced back to his sister. She and Pryderi had joined him in the cottage where the elderboy had watched the enemy's compound for so long, anxiously appraising the fortifications they would have to breach. Arwydd was a bundle of nerves; she had only just been born when House Evnissien had besieged and destroyed House Gryffydd. Naomhin had barely been old enough to take part in the battle; Fychan, little more than a child, could not even manage a cantrip when the siege had taken place. Naomhin had been a young fighter, but House Gryffydd had been a house in its death throes, barely controlled by a weak, newly anointed matron trying to hold her power against scheming sisters. The infighting had been so bad that nearly half the compound had surrendered within the first minutes of the siege. House Hen Wyneb, by contrast, was unified and strong. It would be a far more difficult battle. Naomhin watched the guards for another moment before continuing. "They knew we have to strike quickly:"

"It'll be difficult to move everyone up without being seen," Pryderi observed quietly. Naomhin nodded; the commoners that occupied the homes outside Hen Wyneb had long since fled to wait out the battle from a safe vantage point, but the one hundred warriors and nearly two hundred slaves would easily be seen by the guards if they moved any closer than the previous street. Naomhin turned back to the doorway behind him, where a drow runner waited anxiously for orders.

_First wave_, Naomhin signed through the darkness. The runner nodded eagerly before disappearing through the doorway.

"What's first wave?" Pryderi asked quietly. Naomhin smiled faintly at the wizard.

"Watch," the elderboy said. Pryderi hesitated for a moment, but then turned back to the window.

For a long moment, it appeared as though nothing was happening. The street remained quiet and still, the guards on the ramparts and behind the gate watching the buildings tensely, alert for any sort of disturbance. Arwydd seemed to hang on Pryderi as the wizard strained his eyes to see the first wave, and Naomhin realized with some small hint of disgust that the rumors of his younger sister wanting a pet mage were obviously true.

"Goblins!" a sudden cry went out from the compound. Naomhin forgot his sister as he turned eagerly to the scene about to unfold. "The gate is under attack!"

Goblins they were, sprinting across the no man's land from the cottages to the mighty gate. Each one ran hunched over, carrying a lump of dull red crystals almost a foot in diameter clutched to their chests. Drow behind the gate and walking the perimeter turned on the shadowy little invaders, loosing javelins and poisoned darts hurriedly on the diminutive attackers. The goblins scurried between the missiles in their headlong rush, desperate to reach the gate before they were killed. One goblin was hit by a pair of javelins, spinning him around and forcing him to drop his cargo.

The lump of crystals exploded almost directly upward, spitting a spiraling column of angry red and orange flames into the darkness. Arwydd and Pryderi both jumped and recoiled from the sudden, thunderous explosion, and even Naomhin flinched at what he knew was to come. Another goblin fell, and another deafening report shook the district.

"What in the Abyss?" Arwydd asked, shouting to be heard over the cacophony.

"Captured fireballs!" Pryderi explained, allowing Naomhin to observe the battle. Six goblins had fallen between the explosions and the defenders, but four more of the tiny sappers were still crawling the rest of the way to the gate as the defenders tried to recover from the ear splitting detonations and the bone shaking concussions. "Alchemical crystals that hold the force of a powerful casting!"

"Second wave!" Naomhin screamed back to his runners. "Second wave, now! Ogres in the lead!"

The drow runner nodded anxiously, rattled by the explosions. Another two booms echoed across the street and visibly shook the cottage; Naomhin turned back to the battle just in time to see the last two goblins detonate on the gate itself. Glowing and partially sagging, sections reduced to slag, the Hen Wyneb gate still stood, albeit precariously.

"They didn't break it!" Arwydd shouted. "It's still standing!"

"Cast a spell, Arwydd!" Naomhin snapped, turning on his sister. He looked to Pryderi next, ready to spur him to action, just as the wizard loosed a lightning bolt through the gate, further weakening the barrier and taking out a pair of soldiers just beyond it.

The thunder had not even died away when Naomhin's ogres appeared. A half dozen of the brutes, large even for their kind, surged forward, carrying a huge stone battering ram with thick steel bars for grips. Hen Wyneb defenders scrambled to meet the new threat as other slaves surged through the cottages and homes, screaming in battle lust, led by demonically painted orcish berserkers bearing battle axes or hammers and spiked shields. The ogres crashed into the already damaged gates as Hen Wyneb defenders grabbed up long spears, but the heavy breastplates and helms the ogres wore turned away the initial thrust of pikes and javelins. Pryderi unleashed a devastating ice storm just beyond the gates as the ogres thundered home again, throwing the defenders into disarray under the combined onslaught of brute force and magic. Naomhin could not help but smile; the goblin sappers may have been turned back, but one or two more charges by the ogres would bring the Hen Wyneb gate crashing down.

Another ice storm suddenly hailed down upon the battle, but this time orcs and ogres from Naomhin's slaves were the targets of the spell. Torn apart and frozen by the spell, a dozen or more of his troops fell instantly to the magical attack, one that was quickly followed by a booming fireball that exploded just behind the ogres. Still, stubbornly the ogres slammed into the gate one more time, finally breaching the barrier with a torturous screech of twisting metal.

"They did it! The gate is open!" Naomhin shouted. "Everyone forward! Everyone into the breach!"

Naomhin was up and running, leading the charge across the street through the fires and the ruined gate. Behind him, Orcish berserkers, goblin and kobold slaves, and a hundred proud drow warriors, Evnissien's finest, rushed to follow their brazen leader into the breach. Arwydd and Pryderi kept only a few steps behind the elderboy, trying to keep themselves hidden among the press of the assault, but Naomhin hardly cared for their apparent cowardice as he brought his swords crashing down on one disoriented defender. That guard had barely hit the ground before Naomhin had sought out his second target, a priestess by the looks of it, desperately trying to rush through a spell as she saw the elderboy advancing. Naomhin's long sword lashed out in a lightning arc as he dove forward, ripping through the panicked priestess' throat and ending her spell in a pitiful gurgle, even as his short sword dropped a kobold slave feebly charging in from his side. With resistance crumbling before him and his troops surging through the broken gate, Naomhin let out a roar of challenge.

It was answered only a moment later as four trolls, monstrous even for their kind and adorned with heavy, dull steel breastplates, lumbered out of Hen Wyneb's slave pens, leading a new charge of drow and slaves against the attackers.

* * *

The main chapel of Hen Wyneb may have been the focal point of the house, but Tarren far preferred the quiet of her family's private chapel located just above the nobles' quarters. Here she could pray in peace, leaving her armor and most of her weapons in her own chambers; Matron Ceridwen currently used the main chapel as a war room, directing her soldiers through Bradwr, Llawr, and their captains. Banon and Daere stalked the compound or advised their mother, keeping the commoners in line and prepared for battle. Tarren had done as much as she could during the day, but each noble was given some time to pray to the Spider Queen for strength and wisdom to combat the threat that House Evnissien posed. Only after the others had given their devotions could Tarren finally ask Lolth for guidance, and perhaps for a chance to somehow remove Daere from the house.

She thought she had imagined it at first; a low, rumbling roar form the courtyard, just interrupting her prayers. Tarren's eyes opened, but for a moment the priestess remained silent and still, listening for the inevitable sounds of attack.

More explosions rumbled through the house to her chapel. Tarren sprang to her feet, nearly tripping over her silken robes as she turned and rushed to the chapel door. Her chambers were only two levels down through a spiral staircase, barely more than a minute away. As she opened the doors she could hear cries of alarm from below, mingled with screams of pain and the thundering peals of lightning bolts and fireballs. With no time to lose the priestess raced to the stairwell, levitating down in the space of a second rather than running down the twisting steps.

Her feet had barely touched the ground when she heard a faint whisper over the growing roar of battle, indistinct but somehow ominous. The priestess sprinted for all she was worth, heading for her rooms, but before she could take more than a few steps something slammed into her back, expanding quickly to wrap tightly around her entire body. Bound tightly within a heartbeat, Tarren crashed to the ground, the cold stones of the hallway stunning her as her head glanced painfully off of the floor.

"Poor, poor Tarren," a voice said behind her, bringing her back to her senses. Tarren tried to stand, but she could barely move in her restraints. Rusty steel bands bound her from her knees to her shoulders, squeezing her arms so tightly to her sides that she could barely draw breath. Desperately the priestess tried to look over her shoulder, but her attacker still remained unseen in the gloom. "Helpless as a babe."

"Neifion?" Tarren realized, squirming to see behind her. A moment later the wizard appeared over her, smiling coldly as he examined the helpless noble. "Neifion, release me!" Tarren ordered, trying to keep her panic hidden. "We're under attack! We have no time for this!"

"Oh, I know we're under attack," Neifion said, kneeling next to her. For a moment the mercenary listened to the battle raging outside the tower, cocking his head theatrically as he did so. "House Evnissien has finally come."

"Neifion, what… what are you doing?" Tarren demanded. She winced as she heard the fear seeping into her voice. "They're going to kill us if we don't defend ourselves! Let me go!"

"Oh, they won't kill me," Neifion said, looking back to her. He appraised the bound priestess for a moment. "Perhaps they won't kill you, either. I'll have to ask Matron Saffir for sure, but it's possible you'll survive the night."

"What… what are you talking about?" Tarren asked. Tarren struggled again, trying desperately to free herself from the traitor's steel bindings, but the bands would not even budge. "Neifion, release me! I am a daughter of House Hen Wyneb!"

"You'll be a daughter of a dead house soon enough," Neifion said. "Now, much as I love to watch you struggle, do be a dear and be still. I have many other things to do before this battle is won."

"Neifion! Let me go!" Tarren screamed, frantically trying to at least slip her hands free to cast a spell. "Someone! Someone help me!"

Tarren had no ideas if her screams alerted anyone to her plight, for a moment later Neifion brought the pommel of his sword down on the back of her head, driving her into unconsciousness.

* * *

The gate was down, but the battle was far from over. House Evnissien's slaves and soldiers had poured through the breach initially, but now their momentum had stalled. The brutish ogres that had manned the battering ram were now dead or dying, pinned beneath the twisted remains of the gate and their own monstrous ram. The orcish berserkers who had so quickly cut through the kobold fodder that Bradwr had bought originally numbered at least fifty, but now were reduced to a dozen or less, and most of them had been wounded. Evnissien's fodder, a mixture of all the lesser slave races, had been torn apart by Hen Wyneb's four trained, armored trolls.

The tide of the battle had certainly turned against the Seventeenth House, but Daere Hen Wyneb found herself growing more and more uneasy as she watched the battle trolls tear through the last of the berserkers and turn on their elven masters. Almost two hundred slaves and a hundred well trained and disciplined drow warriors had exploited the breach in the gate, but certainly Saffir Evnissien could not have expected such a force to succeed against Hen Wyneb's defenses. Daere had barely committed half of her house's warriors to the battle, and they were still pushing their foes back with ease. Even now the priestess tried to hold her spells in reserve, letting her subordinates cast spells where they were needed as she directed her slaves and soldiers. Next to her, Bradwr moved up to join the fray, eager to shed blood himself as the Evnissien soldiers began to back up to the shattered gate.

"We're pushing them back!" the new elderboy exclaimed, turning a smile back on his older sister. "We have them! Evnissien falls tonight!"

"The battle isn't over yet!" Daere countered, though she doubted Bradwr heard her in his rush to engage their enemies. For a moment the priestess wished that her brother would fall to an errant javelin or spell, but even her hatred for the traitor failed to quell her uneasiness. Daere could almost feel a trap beginning to close around her. Bradwr, for his part, seemed oblivious to any of her uneasiness, racing up with the trolls as they began to close on the two nobles leading the assault, Naomhin and his sister Arwydd. Naomhin was a master of Ysgol-Cyfranc and he was easily the most lethal combatant at the gates, cutting down defenders as his swords flashed about him, but Bradwr seemed to think he was invincible with the trolls that flanked him.

"Naomhin!" Bradwr shouted, banging his sword against his shield to draw his counterpart's attention. "Naomhin, where is Fychan? Send the wizard to me, Naomhin!"

Naomhin dropped back a step, warding off an attack and turning to Bradwr. Although it was directed at her brother, Daere was the one that was unsettled by the Evnissien's cold smile and a flick of his short sword to her right.

In answer to his gesture, a barrage of lightning and fire tore through the center of the compound.

Although the initial targets were mostly slaves, Daere was stunned by the sheer ferocity of the unexpected assault. Fireballs exploded among clumps of slaves and lightning bolts ripped holes in the defenders throughout the courtyard, one bolt coming dangerously close to Daere as she turned to the new front. Marching in perfect step, a phalanx of stoic hobgoblins carrying enormous rectangular shields pushed through a newly destroyed section of the Hen Wyneb fence, protecting a platoon of enemy spellcasters.

"To the right! The right flank!" Daere screamed, trying to rally the confused defenders. Above them, the Hen Wyneb wizards turned on the new threat, burying the tiny phalanx in a volley of fireballs. An ice storm rained down on the smoking phalanx, further engulfing the casters and their guardians in a barrage of lethal hail and frozen shards. Even a pair of lightning bolts slammed into the shield bearers, crashing into them with thunderous booms.

To her utter shock, the phalanx emerged unscathed from the lethal barrage.

* * *

She had heard of such magic before, and had even seen it once in a war between powerful houses, but she had not thought House Evnissien would be capable of such arcane defenses.

Collwen cursed under her breath as the last ashes of her scroll floated to the ground. Powerful magic, imbued into the hobgoblins' shields, had protected the entire Evnissien magical contingent from over a half dozen powerful spells thrown directly at them, including her own ice storm spell. House Evnissien's wizards retaliated with swift, deadly accuracy; Collwen only barely ducked back behind the columns of her balcony before a fireball exploded against the metal railing, barely singing her but practically melting the blackened steel rails. Even before the fires died away the sorceress rushed back to her position, trying to recall any spell that could penetrate the magical field protecting the Evnissien casters.

Whether by instinct or knowledge, however, Daere moved first. Her robes smoking and her chain mail blackened by the fire and lightning, the priestess nonetheless scrambled back to her feet and practically screamed out her invocation, finding the one weak spot in the magical field's defenses. Thoroughly protected from any magical attack from in front or above, the field did not protect from the flame strike that devoured the two lead hobgoblins, opening the shield wall and breaking the protective barrier instantly. The hobgoblins rushed to close ranks, but still javelins and darts managed to claim one young priestess that appeared in the smoking hole left by the two lead shield bearers. Collwen smiled coldly as she unfurled her next scroll, ready to invoke the fireball contained in the script written across the parchment.

An odd crack caught her attention before she began casting.

Collwen stopped and turned back to the Hen Wyneb courtyard, watching for a moment as a tiny fissure began to open just behind the Hen Wyneb defenders. A pair of lightning bolts and another fireball slammed into Evnissien's magical platoon, but the priestess was far too concerned with the new development in the battle to worry about casualties there. The fissure was growing rapidly now, and the mage could see shapes crawling out of the crumbling rock. As the first of the lurching forms appeared, Collwen loosed the fireball, sending it streaking down into the crevice just as whatever was inside began to clamber out. Even as her spell blasted home, however, the sorceress turned quickly, hearing someone racing up the steps to her balcony.

"Collwen!" Neifion exclaimed, throwing his hands up as he saw the mage beginning to draw the wand on her belt. "I'm on your side!"

"Then get up here and cast!" Collwen snapped, already turning back to the courtyard.

"Oh, no," Neifion said. Collwen glanced back to her fellow wizard to see him pointing to the ceiling of the cavern. Above them, at least two dozen drow were descending rapidly to the highest points of the Hen Wyneb compound.

"They're coming from everywhere," Collwen breathed out, drawing her wand and pointing it to the nearest of the drow descending into the compound.

A bone chilling blast of pain suddenly exploded into her side.

Collwen staggered to the side, her eyes wide with shock as she looked down to the blood soaking her robes and the frost surrounding her gaping wound. Wordlessly the sorceress turned to Neifion, her blood slowly freezing along the enchanted blade of his short sword.

"Indeed, they are coming from everywhere," the traitor agreed. Collwen barely had time to stumble back one step before Neifion's sword ripped through her throat.

* * *

"Push forward! Up into the courtyard!"

The ramp leading up into Hen Wyneb's compound still smoked from the fireball, and what remained of the twenty zombies that Rollo had created from dead miners lay dismembered and smoldering on the edges, but the slaves rushed forward in a panic. Behind them, fifty duergar warriors, all seasoned, brutal veterans of dozens of battles, spurred the slaves on with hammer, axe and whip, promising certain death if they tarried on the ramp. Tybalt wished that his small undead force had not been incinerated so quickly, but the zombies had done their job admirably. Now his slaves, exhausted by their digging but too petrified of their taskmasters to hesitate, rushed up into the courtyard, followed by the dour gray dwarves. Tybalt himself led his duergar out, a pair of hastily thrown javelins clanging off of his shield as he reached the top of the ramp.

Despite the fireball, Tybalt was elated to see the bulk of the defenders taken completely by surprise. The drow of House Hen Wyneb were initially pushed back by the new press of slave warriors, but, as the mine boss expected, the defenders were quick to cut through the cowardly goblins, orcs, and kobolds of his slave force. Their push, however, allowed his duergar to storm the compound, linking shields and charging through the javelins and darts of their enemies. Drow and slaves alike were finally turning to deal with the new threat from within their own courtyard, cutting down the last of the mine boss' slaves but opening themselves to attacks from Naomhin's initial force. Tybalt kept at the head of his troops, his heavy hammer smashing through the delicate chain mail and fragile ribs of one drow defender, but even the duergar captain paused as Hen Wyneb's battle trolls turned to face the new threat.

"Rollo!" Tybalt shouted. "Deal with the trolls!"

Rollo seemingly appeared out of nowhere with the summons, simply striding through the swirling melee to join his leader. The emaciated priest showed no sign of emotion as he knelt and placed one hand on the ground, muttering something indistinct above the roar of the battle. His momentary prayer done, Rollo stood once more, his icy blue eyes focusing on the trolls ahead of him.

The ground before the trolls shook and buckled, rapidly rising up into vaguely humanoid shapes with huge, spiked fists on long arms of stone. Soaring up to almost fifteen feet in height, the pair of earth elementals met the rampaging trolls with furious blows. Three trolls stopped to combat the earthen attackers, but the fourth, its myriad wounds closing with very step it took, threw one slave warrior out of the way as it strode toward the duergar lines.

"Harsh One, Master of Crate, crush him in the forge," Rollo breathed out. As he spoke his prayer, a jet of angry vermilion flames shot up from the ground, engulfing the troll in fire and swirling embers.

"Now! Take him now!" Tybalt ordered. A half dozen of his duergar rushed in on the troll as it emerged, screaming, from the flames, swords and axes slashing through the beast's charred skin. Although the troll healed far too quickly for a single warrior to put it own, Tybalt was more than confident that six would be up to the task of finishing the monstrosity. His point was proven a heartbeat later as one particularly vicious swipe chopped through the troll's leg and dropped it to the ground, but the mine boss was already looking up to the battle on the ramparts above.

* * *

Rhonwen's spells, bolstering his strength and his agility, were all he needed. The others would find their targets easily enough.

Athruis had led two dozen of House Evnissien's best warriors and clerics along the very ceiling of Llyr to their target, descending through a combination of spells and magical items to the tops of House Hen Wyneb's spires and towers. It was here that the wizards and clerics of the defending house would hide, raining their spells down on the Evnissien attackers in the courtyard. Other houses had tried such a tactic in the past, sending assassins or even small squads along the roof of the city to attack from above, but Athruis had insisted to Matron Saffir that he be allowed to take a large, hand picked group to wipe out Hen Wyneb's mystical defenses as the fourth wave of his staggered attack plan. So far, Athruis decided as he looked over the catwalk railing to the swirling melee below, his plan was working; Hen Wyneb had powerful defenders and slaves, but they were caught fighting in three directions at once and the crossfire was taking its toll. Naomhin's brazen assault had torn down the front gate and Fychan's second, smaller attack had opened a new hole in the fence, but Tybalt's assault from directly below had truly thrown the defending house into disarray.

Athruis could spare no more than a glance below, however, before he was forced back to his immediate surroundings. Ahead of him, a thoroughly surprised wizard was already backpedaling to the tower behind him, drawing a wand and pointing it hurriedly at the new enemy. Three magic missiles streaked out of the wand and slammed into Athruis' chest, but the weaponmaster paid the injuries no heed as he hastily closed the distance to his foe. The wizard threw the wand up in a desperate attempt to parry Athruis' high feint even as the swordsman dropped low and spun his double bladed sword through the mage's gut. The Hen Wyneb spellcaster fell to the ground, clutching the gaping wound in his stomach in pain, just in time to have his head sheared off with a quick spin of Athruis' blades. As the mage's head fell from the catwalk, Athruis spared a quick glance to his fellow raiders.

To the weaponmaster's faint surprise, the defenders along the catwalks were less unprepared for the assault than he would have liked. It was true that the mages and wizards of Hen Wyneb were being pushed back by his assault force, but they were falling back without taking the heavy casualties that Athruis had initially hoped for. Quickly the weaponmaster hopped over the headless body of his first victim, looking to get inside the towers and aid his assault teams. Before he could reach the tower ahead of him, however, a single form stepped from the shadows, wielding a long sword of blackened steel and a distinctive barbed pick.

"Llawr," Athruis said, recognizing his counterpart in Hen Wyneb. Llawr smiled faintly as he advanced a step on the attacker.

"I somehow knew you would come in from above," Llawr said. "I've kept notes on sieges. You did the same thing against House Gryffydd all those years ago."

"Then I'm not surprised you waited for me up here," Athruis stated simply, raising his weapon in readiness.

"Never one for small talk, I had heard that about you," Llawr quipped, taking one more step forward. "Still, I'll give you a choice. Die on my blade, or join Hen Wyneb."

Athruis snorted out a cold, derisive chuckle as he spared a glance below.

"Your house is losing," the Evnissien said. "Perhaps you should join us."

"There's still time to turn the tide," Llawr said, his smirk growing faintly. "Look, even now your house is losing its momentum."

Athruis hazarded a glance around him. The battle was as chaotic as ever; neither side clearly held an advantage. But Athruis only appraised the melee below for a heartbeat before he turned back to Llawr, already rushing forward with his weapons ready to strike. Athruis dropped back a quick step as his double sword swung into a pair of quick parries, but his own counter was easily deflected as Llawr's weapons snapped back into a perfect defense. Athruis pressed the attack, a growl escaping his lips as his double blades flashed in at his opponent, but his counterpart matched each dizzying attack with a masterful counter and a faint, but growing, smirk.

"Not as easy as you had hoped, eh Athruis?" Llawr inquired, dropping back a step as he parried away the Evnissien's lightning strikes with almost casual ease. Athruis snarled in disgust at Llawr's flippant demeanor, but the Hen Wyneb weaponmaster was right.

The battle was not going nearly as well as Athruis had hoped.


	15. The Storm, Part Two

** XIV**

Hen Wyneb's gate was breached, but the battle was as chaotic and undecided as ever.

Kneeling between the cottages on the opposite side of the street, Talaith watched anxiously as the melee inside the Hen Wyneb compound reached a fever pitch. Naomhin's initial assault force clung precariously to their positions just inside the shattered gates, his slaves annihilated but his drow still largely intact. Fychan's mystical assault force had been pushed outside their breach in the fence, barely holding the gaping wound in the perimeter as what was left of Hen Wyneb's slaves launched a new push to expel them completely. Even Tybalt's force had stalled, their surprise lost and their slaves dying rapidly on the defenders' blades. Up above, where Athruis was supposed to be destroying the mystical forces of Hen Wyneb, fireballs and lightning bolts still lit up the catwalks and walkways of the defending house's upper levels, striking targets both along the parapets and on the battlefield below.

"Show us your favor," Talaith whispered, one hand on her spider pendant. It was a prayer she had uttered many times since Matron Saffir's decision to attack Hen Wyneb. Talaith would have far preferred an easier target, a house with fewer powerful defenders, but Matron Saffir wanted one more siege to her credit. The priestess glanced behind her, back past the hundred slaves and almost two hundred drow warriors waiting eagerly for the attack, and wished that the matron that had been so willing to take the fight to another house would have taken the lead in the final wave of the assault. Naomhin may have lusted after the rush of battle and Arwydd might have enjoyed the thrills of subterfuge, but Talaith was a high priestess of Lolth and an heir to a noble house, not some lowly spy or war captain.

_Cast your devotions now,_ Matron Saffir's voice echoed in her mind. Talaith stiffened at the telepathic orders, but quickly did as she was told. Reverently she bowed her head, calling upon Lolth's unholy power to aid her soldiers. At each flank and in the rear, Matron Saffir and two other house priestesses cast their own prayers across the main force. Her prayer cast, Talaith lifted her eyes back to the battle before her.

"Now!" she screamed, drawing her whip and swinging it over her head. Slaves and drow alike catapulted forward, rushing for the wide open breach in the gate and the defenders trying to crush what was left of Naomhin's force. Leading the way was a single, large ettin, swinging an enormous spiked club as the two headed giant surged through the hole. Behind it, a small cadre of hobgoblin warriors rushed in, carrying large shields to deflect the worst of renewed volleys of javelins and darts for the rest of the slaves and the main drow force. The Evnissien raiders hurried over the bodies of their dead and dying comrades at the gate with wild abandon, pushing the defenders back into Tybalt's brutal duergar and slaves. Talaith hurried to the gate but paused for a moment, quickly scanning the defenders. The four monstrous trolls that Hen Wyneb had employed were now smoking corpses in the center of the courtyard, surrounded by the bodies of countless Evnissien slaves and at least a dozen of her house's drow. Hen Wyneb's elves had fallen back to the pentagram of towers, holding the entrances to those spires with grim determination. Naomhin was already pushing forward with reckless abandon, cutting down what few slaves the doomed house had left as he advanced upon the far tower. But finally Talaith found a target worth destroying; Daere Hen Wyneb commanded her forces at the closest tower on Talaith's left, smashing down on enemies with a heavy spiked flail when she was not casting spells to aid her warriors.

"Come to me, Piran," Talaith whispered, dropping to one knee. An inky darkness quickly coalesced in front of her, taking the shape of a huge, shadowy hound, its glowing green eyes locked on the priestess in front of it. Talaith patted the shadow mastiff on its head, then pointed to Daere. "Take her, Piran," she directed. The mastiff growled eagerly, then turned and rushed through the swirling melee towards the second daughter of Hen Wyneb.

* * *

This could not be happening.

"Hold them! Keep them back!" Bradwr screamed, growing more and more desperate as Evnissien's attackers continued to press forward. Only moments ago it had seemed as though Evnissien would lose the battle, but now one more push from yet another wave of attackers threatened to crush the defending house. Hen Wyneb had committed all of its slaves to the battle. Tarren, his idiot younger sister, was nowhere to be found. The mystical support from above had dwindled to an occasional fireball or lightning bolt, and all four of Hen Wyneb's battle trolls had been killed, just as a powerful two headed giant stormed through the broken gate. Quickly the elderboy glanced around the compound, being at least marginally relieved that Daere was still alive and relatively unharmed, holding strong in the face of the newest Evnissien attack.

His relief died a moment later as a pillar of brilliant white fire slammed down into her.

Bradwr's jaw dropped open as he saw his sister disappear inside that plume of flames. As the elderboy watched, his older sister staggered forward, her hair burned from her body and her robes incinerated, just in time to get bowled over by a huge, shadowy dog with glowing green eyes. Desperately his sister tried to fight off the monstrous hound, but her flail swung through nothing but shadow as the hound tore at her chest and ripped out her throat. For a moment longer Bradwr stared in horror at the grisly scene, but a feeble slash from an enemy slave snapped him back to his senses.

"No!" the elderboy screamed, jumping back into the fray with wild abandon. He may have hated Daere, but her death was a grievous blow to Hen Wyneb and Bradwr's hopes for survival. The warrior slammed his shield into the face of the kobold that had dared to attack him, turning even as he did so to slice through the defenses of a drow soldier wearing Evnissien's colors. Another dark elf moved to attack the Hen Wyneb, but Bradwr easily knocked that warrior's sword aside and drove his own blade straight through the enemy soldier. Bradwr hurled that dying drow from his sword with open fury, spinning quickly and blocking a low attack from a heavy hammer.

Bradwr barely noticed as he found himself facing a pair of stony duergar warriors. The two were experienced combatants, but Bradwr quickly countered their blows and slashed through the throat of one attacker. Even before the first dwarf fell to the ground Bradwr dropped low to the ground and spun quickly, ripping through his second foe's gut. The two duergar fell before him quickly, leaving him facing one last gray dwarf wielding a sharply triangular shield and a hammer that glowed with infernal heat.

Bradwr charged in on his opponent with a furious roar, launching a feint high and then driving low with his sword. To his surprise, the lightning strike met nothing but the duergar's shield as the dwarf knocked his blade away masterfully. Bradwr wasted no time in bringing his sword back around in a tight slash, but the duergar simply ducked low and dropped back one step before launching a vicious counter of his own. Bradwr was barely in time to deflect the deceptively quick strike, but even then the force of the duergar's blow reverberated through his shield arm. Snarling in rage, Bradwr launched into a dizzying assault, sending his sword in a flurry of blows that came in from every possible angle. Still the duergar remained stony and emotionless, ducking under high slashes and calmly knocking away lower lunges, turning aside every attack that Bradwr could devise. Again and again Bradwr tried to cut his foe down, growing more and more frustrated as the dwarf refused to even show any sign of emotion as he countered the elderboy's every strike. Finally Bradwr brought his sword down in a heavy overhand chop, determined to cut through his enemy's shield if need be.

His strike was on target and true, but at the last moment the duergar hopped backward. Bradwr's sword slammed into the ground, sending chips of stone flying, but before he could lift his weapon again the dwarf pounced forward, bringing his hammer down near the crossguard of his sword with enough force to tear the blade free of his grasp. Bradwr's eyes widened in shock for only a moment before the duergar's hammer snapped back up from the ground, shattering his jaw and searing his face with the force of the blow and the weapon's unholy heat. Dazed and reeling, his vision blurry, and unarmed, Bradwr could barely keep track of his foe before he stumbled back into the surge of Evnissien attackers.

* * *

He would have preferred to spill noble blood himself, but for the moment he would have to let Tybalt take the credit.

Bradwr was barely dead on the ground before Naomhin was rushing past him, ignoring his rival elderboy in his push for the far tower. The largest of Hen Wyneb's towers held the house chapel and the nobles' quarters, the strongest remaining point of defense for the Fifteenth House. From the lower balconies above, poisoned javelins and darts still rained down on the attacking Evnissiens, interspersed with vials of alchemical fire that exploded into brilliant plumes of fire on impact. Those attacks were of secondary concern to Naomhin as he dodged between plumes of fire and errant missiles, however, as he focused on the heavy steel doors of the tower and the Hewn Wyneb drow desperately trying to close them.

"Cut them down!" the elderboy bellowed, glancing around him desperately for a spellcaster of some sort. Arwydd was locked in hand to hand combat, ducking behind her shield and lashing out with her serpentine blade when the opportunity presented itself, while Pryderi was busy launching a series of fireballs up into the higher levels of the tower to stop Hen Wyneb's mages from casting their own spells at will. Frantically the elderboy pushed himself harder, even opening himself to attacks from the remnants of Hen Wyneb slaves as he raced for his goal. "Stop them before they seal the tower!"

Two drow moved to stop him, hastily linking shields in front of him. Naomhin dropped low and hacked through one opponent's leg, springing back to his feet just as the second moved forward to chop down on him. The elderboy's long sword easily parried away the heavy overhand attack even as his short sword darted in past the soldier's shield, ripping through his hip just below the protection of his chain shirt. As his two foes dropped to the ground, however, the tower doors slammed shut. Naomhin turned quickly as a final ogre slave charged him, but before he could even strike it down a searing ray of fire burned through it. To the elderboy's faint surprise, the ogre's collapse revealed Fychan behind it, a smirk on his ash covered face.

"You seem surprised, brother," the secondboy quipped, joining his older sibling. "The time and place for my ascent is not here or now."

"Enough," Naomhin said, turning back to the sealed tower. A last fireball exploded along the lower balconies, but the final bastion of Hen Wyneb's strength now seemed impenetrable. Arwydd skidded to a stop next to her brothers, then turned back to the soldiers behind them.

"Get the ram!" the priestess demanded, pointing anxiously to the huge ram that the ogres had used on the main gate. Naomhin glanced around quickly for any other method of entry, but for the moment nothing presented itself. A score or so of Hen Wyneb's soldiers had surrendered and any slave left standing had thrown themselves upon the mercy of the attacking house, but a partial surrender would not be near enough. Fighting still raged through the other towers, meaning a long, bloody battle across narrow walkways and catwalks to reach the chapel tower. Even the ram seemed useless; the ogre gate crashers had all been killed, and even the remnants of Evnissien's orcish slaves seemed ill suited to use such a monstrous device.

"Stand aside, elf," an icy, harsh voice growled out. Naomhin turned back to see a gaunt, disgusting duergar practically push Arwydd out of the way, his dead blue eyes locked on the tower in front of him. Fuming with rage, Arwydd turned to follow the emaciated dwarf, but Tybalt stepped easily into her path.

"If you want the tower open, you'll let Rollo be," the mine boss stated simply.

"You are not in charge here," Arwydd snarled, her knuckles turning white as her grip tightened on the hilt of her sword. Tybalt simply folded his arms across his burly chest, practically daring the priestess to turn on her duergar allies in the midst of the battle. Rollo had already reached the tower, however, and as Naomhin watched the duergar placed his palm flat against the stone wall of the tower. After a brief pause, the gray dwarf simply plunged his hands through the stone and shoved open a gaping hole in the tower.

* * *

Neither one seemed capable of taking an advantage, but the stalemate was good enough for his purposes.

Athruis had to admit, however, that he was surprised by the sheer skill and talent of his adversary. What little had ever been mentioned of House Hen Wyneb's weaponmaster had focused far more on his constant chatter and sloppy attitude than his fighting prowess, but seeing him in action proved to the Evnissien that his counterpart was a true master of his weapons. Llawr used the narrow balcony and the abutting catwalk to his advantage, pushing Athruis against the sagging railings where he could limit the effectiveness of Athruis' double sword. The Hen Wyneb struck lightning quick at his foe while not giving in to any false opening or feint that Athruis employed, while his barbed pick flashed into the path of any of Athruis' own strikes or hooked onto his double sword to pull his defenses out of line.

"You must be getting old, Athruis," Llawr taunted, a broad smirk stretched across his face despite the pair of long, shallow slashes along his arms and the rips in his tunic that revealed his enchanted chain mail shirt. "After everything I heard about you in the Academy, I expected you to best me easily!"

Athruis bit back on a snarling retort, refusing to be taken off guard by his rival's chatter. Already the Hen Wyneb had scored a painful gouge to his thigh from his pick, and his sword had left a pair of slashes on his arm and hip just below his own armor. Neither weaponmaster was near falling yet, however, and as Athruis glanced across the battlements his frustration was replaced with a cold grin. Every moment Llawr was forced to fight Athruis was a moment that House Hen Wyneb dearly missed their best fighter. Fire and lightning exploded through the catwalks and balconies, finally driving Hen Wyneb's spellcasters from the balconies and walkways. Below them, House Evnissien had pushed the defenders to the bases of the towers.

"You should have surrendered when you had the chance, Llawr," Athruis pointed out, his icy smile growing faintly. "Your house is doomed."

"We haven't lost yet," Llawr countered, although his voice had lost a trace of its initial confidence. The Hen Wyneb launched a vicious attack, slamming down with his pick on Athruis' sword and striking high with his own blade, but the Evnissien ducked low and skipped backward before the razor sharp edge could slice into his face. Quickly Athruis swept forward, driving his opponent back a step as he pushed himself away from the narrow catwalk and back into the center of the balcony. Still Llawr pressed the attack, reversing momentum to attack with his pick and defend with the sword, but Athruis was not fooled by the shifting strategy and kept pace with his enemy. Llawr dropped to one knee, lashing out at Athruis' legs with his pick while his sword stabbed up to impale the Evnissien's chest, but once again Athruis skipped back out of reach of the weapons to the edge of the balcony.

Athruis realized the tactic only a heartbeat too late. Athruis launched himself forward, trying to find his way away from the railing, but Llawr was ready for the move, cutting him off before he could move back to the center of the balcony. Athruis' double sword deflected off of the railing behind him as he tried to bring it back in line, opening up a hole for only the briefest instant, but Llawr was counting on just such an error. The Hen Wyneb's pick slammed home into Athruis' side, breaking through chain links and punching into his flesh. As the Evnissien stifled a scream of pain, Llawr shoved forward with all his strength, pinning his foe to the disintegrating railing as he twisted the barbed tip of his weapon in Athruis' side.

"With you gone, your house falls," Llawr growled, his malicious grin only inches from Athruis' face. The Evnissien could feel the railing giving way beneath him as waves of agony shot up through his side, but with his sword pinned against the railing by Llawr's blade, there was no way to bring his weapon to bear against his opponent.

With the last reserves of his strength Athruis forced himself forward, using his head as a weapon. He could feel Llawr's nose shatter under the impact of his forehead, the shock of the sudden pain knocking Llawr back on his heels. Athruis wasted no time in pushing himself forward, charging forward and impaling his rival to the central hilt of his double sword. Llawr screamed out in pain as the blade sliced through him and then ripped back out, but before he could even drop to one knee Athruis' blades spun quickly, taking the Hen Wyneb's head from his shoulders.

* * *

"Ladders! Bring more ladders!"

"Get up there and take them out!" Naomhin ordered sternly, shoving his soldiers forward. Rollo had breached the impenetrable stone walls of the chapel tower with a simple push, molding the stone into a hole large enough for two drow to enter side by side, but although they had taken the lowest level of the tower the last of Hen Wyneb's defenders still fought viciously to hold the upper levels. What few spellcasters were left dropped their final magic missiles or lightning bolts down the interior, while darts and javelins continued to rain down on the attackers. The last of Fychan's hobgoblin mercenaries used their long shields to turn aside the worst of the missile attacks, while the drow attackers struggled to lift their collapsible ladders into place against the sheer walls of the interior.

"We'll never win this fight this way!" Arwydd snapped, moving up alongside her brother. The priestess raised her shield just as a javelin streaked down at them, turning the weapon aside with a loud clank. "They'll slaughter us down here like this!"

"Then cast a flame strike!" Naomhin shot back, turning on his sister. "Or perhaps the Spider Queen only favors Talaith and Rhonwen with such magic!"

"Watch your tongue, male, or I'll cut it out!" Arwydd threatened, nearly forgetting the battle to deal with the elderboy.

"Fight each other afterward!" Pryderi interrupted, shoving between the two siblings. Naomhin nearly cut the wizard's arm off at the elbow for daring to touch him, but stopped himself in time to let Arwydd's new toy snap his wrist forward and loose a lightning bolt up through the tower. A half dozen defenders screamed in pain as the bolt ripped through them, buying precious time for a cadre of drow warriors to scramble up their ladders to the landings some two stories above ground. Without waiting for the two Evnissien nobles, Pryderi levitated up through the center of the tower, casting one more magic missile to finish off a particularly stubborn Hen Wyneb warrior. Not to be outdone by the upstart, Naomhin quickly followed suit, landing next to the wizard in front of the powerful double doors to the Hen Wyneb chapel. Other soldiers scrambled up to the landings, quickly taking the surrender of a half dozen battered Hen Wyneb defenders. Above them, thunder still rumbled through the towers from rival spellcasters, but already the sounds of battle were dying away as House Hen Wyneb began to realize its inevitable defeat.

"Can you open it?" Naomhin asked, turning to the wizard.

"I haven't the spells," Pryderi answered. He tucked his wand back into his belt. "I've gotten you this far. I have nothing left."

Naomhin cursed under his breath as he glanced over his shoulder. Already the landing was full of Evnissien drow, but although they were all fine warriors none of them had the ability to open the stone doors to the Hen Wyneb chapel. Arwydd landed next to Pryderi, but she too had exhausted her spells, if she even had the strength to open the door in the first place. Once again, however, Rollo stepped forward, followed by Tybalt and a half dozen of the duergar warriors.

"Can you?" Naomhin asked simply. Rollo barely nodded as he pushed past the elderboy.

"Very talkative," Pryderi noted, watching the duergar place his hands against the massive stone doors. For a long moment Rollo remained motionless, his body slowly beginning to slump forward against the doors.

Rollo suddenly shoved his arms straight. The doors buckled for a moment before slamming open, shattering the barrier beneath his hands. Naomhin hesitated for only a heartbeat before leading his soldiers into the chapel.

The last of Hen Wyneb's defenders were inside the chapel, waiting for the final assault. Matron Ceridwen herself struck from the opposite end of the chapel, calling down flame strikes on the lead attackers but thankfully missing Naomhin. Duergar and drow alike stormed into the chapel, with Rollo even adding another pair of small earth elementals to the attack to guard the duergar spearhead that pushed into the center of the chapel. Arwydd quickly fanned out to Naomhin's right, but the elderboy had already found his target on the left side of the chapel, using her spells to devastating effect against the last surge of attackers.

Two of his soldiers followed him in, following the elderboy to Banon Hen Wyneb. The priestess spat out a vile curse at him, but the elderboy could feel its effects wither to nothing against him as the Spider Queen began to abandon House Hen Wyneb to its fate. Her eyes widening in shock, Banon barely had time to react to her foes, parrying desperately with her shield as she drew a heavy spiked mace. Naomhin's blades were turned aside as the high priestess crushed the skull of Naomhin's one subordinate, but two more soldiers stepped in quickly to continue the attack on her. Banon was certainly a talented fighter, but even her desperation could not stop the drow attacking her. One more soldier fell to Banon's wild swings, but her attack on his underling gave Naomhin the opening he needed. His long sword ripped through armor and flesh alike as he found his way under Banon's shield, knocking her back and to one knee. Naomhin and his soldiers fell upon the wounded priestess with wild savagery, practically tearing her limb from limb as they buried her beneath them. Grinning in bloodlust, Naomhin turned to the last Hen Wyneb priestess on her feet, his eagerness only amplified by the look of terror on Matron Ceridwen's face. Swiftly the elderboy vaulted Banon's unidentifiable corpse and rushed headlong across the blood slick chapel floor, following a bolt of lightning that stopped the matron's final prayer. Arwydd reached the dazed enemy matron at the same moment, and the two drew their swords back to strike the killing blow on their enemy.

"Enough!" A powerful voice bellowed through the chapel. Naomhin's sword stopped only inches from Matron Ceridwen's exposed throat. Matron Ceridwen's terrified eyes were locked on her apparent executioner, but reluctantly Naomhin and Arwydd sheathed their weapons. The elderboy and his sister both looked back to their own matron as Saffir Evnissien made her way through the corpses and rubble littering the chapel, flanked on one side by Hetwn and the other by Talaith.

"Matron Saffir," Ceridwen said hastily, trying to scramble to her feet. Naomhin and Arwydd grabbed the doomed matron and shoved her down against the altar. "Matron Saffir, you have won! I… I place myself in your service!"

"You place yourself in my service," Matron Saffir echoed, smiling coldly down at the trapped Hen Wyneb. "You know the laws, Ceridwen. No survivors. How would I ever be able to trust that you would not accuse me of destroying your house?"

"I will never betray you!" Ceridwen promised. "You are my matron! I am your servant! Spare me, please!"

"Such a powerful matron laid low," Hetwn observed. "It is almost a pitiable sight, Matron Saffir. I trust your judgment, my dear matron, but can we truly trust one who turns her back on her loyalties so easily?"

"You are correct, my dear patron," Saffir said, turning to Hetwn. The wizard reached into the folds of his robes to produce a vicious spider shaped dagger. Ceridwen struggled for a moment to escape, but Naomhin and Arwydd slammer her back into the altar, roughly tossing her onto her back.

"I am sure the Demon Queen of Spiders will accept your soul into her web, to be by her side," Matron Saffir said, raising the dagger over her head. Two more drow quickly moved to subdue Ceridwen as Naomhin tore her robes and stripped off her chain mail to expose her breast.

"No! Don't do this! I am worth more to you alive!" Ceridwen shrieked, struggling frantically against her captors.

"The sacrifice for our victory, the heart of my enemy matron, as promised to you, my Queen," Saffir intoned. Ceridwen's screams for mercy ended abruptly as the eight legs of the spider dagger punched through her chest and plunged into her heart.


	16. Epilogue

XV

Only eight matrons in all of Llyr knew of the tiny passages and caverns that ran beneath the very heart of Llyr's Market District. Indeed, no physical entrance could be found to the small but elegantly furnished tunnels, lit only occasionally by a torch of violet or blue faerie fire and guarded by the shadows of the unfortunate craftsmen, both drow and duergar, that had originally constructed the place and the hordes of fist sized spiders that nested along the ceilings of the tallest chambers. At the center of the diminutive maze, a single large chamber housed a plain circular table surrounded by eight unremarkable chairs.

Matron Artaith Sy'Lian, Matron of House Sy'Lian, was the first to arrive at the council chamber of the Cyfrin-Gygnor, Llyr's ruling council. Only the eight most powerful houses of Llyr were represented in the Cyfrin-Gygnor, and of those Matron Artaith commanded the First House. Despite her house's position as first among the noble houses of Llyr, Matron Artaith was still disturbed by the recent happenings within the city of Llyr.

As Matron Artaith studied the table before her, the other matrons began to appear from their own branches of the maze. Matron Vala, troubled leader of House Caer Llion. Matron Olwyn, the wizened, ancient, rumored to be insane head of House Siryddion. Matron Mair, the zealous leader of the Fourth House, Trahayarn. Matron Drysi, the stocky, aggressive elder of House Ardwyad. Esyllt, Matron of the Sixth House, Lluchdu. Matron Heledd, matriarch of the ancient Seventh House, Blodyn-tywyll, rumored to still practice the ancient druidic ways. And Matron Lynwen, ruler of the Eighth House Gwenn Alarch, newest member of the council with scarcely a century among the Matrons of the Cyfrin-Gygnor. Each matron moved to take their seats around the table, waiting to sit until Matron Artaith finally took her own seat.

"Without doubt, all of you have heard the disturbing news," Matron Artaith began, pushing a few strands of silver hair from her blood red eyes with her delicate hand. A few nods from the other matrons assured her that none had missed the previous day's events. "A mysterious force has annihilated noble House Hen Wyneb, without warning and provocation."

"Were there any survivors?" Matron Vala inquired, looking to Artaith. The First Matron could detect the faint note of hope in Vala's voice; the Second House had no interest in losing any allies, no matter how low in the ranks of the nobles they were.

"None," Artaith answered, looking from Vala to the other matrons. "House Hen Wyneb cannot help us identify their attackers. Has anyone discovered the perpetrators of this dreadful deed?"

Matron Artaith's gaze moved slowly from one matron to the next. Only the most isolated matron did not know of House Evnissien's role in the attack; the Seventeenth… no, Sixteenth House, now… had lost many slaves and within hours of the attack was trying to bolster its weakened forces in the event of an attack of opportunity from another house.

Matron Artaith paused for a moment as her eyes settled on Matron Vala. The ruler of the Second House twitched for a moment, but said nothing. Directly across from Vala, a faint, almost predatory smirk settled across Matron Olwyn's withered features. It was barely a secret that House Evnissien had killed Matron Vala's granddaughter and then allied themselves with Siryddion, the most dangerous house in Llyr in Artaith's eyes. The addition of almost two dozen soldiers two the Third House's army, not to mention a new alliance with a house growing in power, made both Vala and Artaith uneasy.

"Matron Vala, have you discovered anything about this attack?" Matron Artaith asked. An accusation by such a powerful house would certainly damn House Evnissien…

"I have heard nothing," Matron Vala answered, her eyes still locked on Olwyn.

"Then we can do nothing but bury the dead," Matron Heledd interjected. Matron Artaith nodded in reluctant agreement with the ruler of Blodyn-tywyll.

"House Hen Wyneb is no more," Matron Mair said solemnly. "May her nobles be given a place of honor in the Web. The matter is closed."

* * *

"Your name?"

"Tarren Hen Wyneb," she stated simply.

The snake whip bit into her back and her arms, knocking her forward onto the ground. The last member of House Hen Wyneb tried desperately to free herself, but the webbing that tied her wrists to her ankles and stuck to her hands and feet was impossible to break. The unfamiliar and disgusting feeling of the sticky strands that held her was only one more humiliating reminder that her house had lost, even more so than the sting of Arwydd's snake whip on her bare skin.

She had barely recovered from the initial shock of the attack when she was roughly forced back to her knees, kneeling naked and trussed in front of Matron Saffir Evnissien. Tarren tried to look defiant in the face of the woman that had destroyed her family, but found herself shrinking back slightly from the vile matron.

"What is your name, child?" Saffir asked again.

"Tarren," she answered, giving one last tug at her restraints. Matron Saffir smiled.

"Tarren, yes," Matron Saffir repeated with a nod. "You are no noble, Tarren. You are not even a priestess of Lolth."

Tarren said nothing as she fought back the urge to cry. The webs that held her were proof that the Spider Queen had abandoned her.

"All is not lost for you, Tarren," Matron Saffir said, lifting the prisoner's chin gently. "Redemption is a possibility even for those who have failed Lolth so completely. A day may come when you are once again lifted into the Spider Queen's graces and given a place of honor on the Web."

"What must I do?" Tarren asked quietly. If she was fortunate, she would soon regain her spells from her goddess, and possibly even take revenge on the house that had killed her family.

"You must atone for… your failures," matron Saffir replied, a cold smile growing on her face. Tarren could feel an icy chill strike through her with each word as mystical energies began to surround her. "You will never, ever, so much as utter the name Hen Wyneb," Saffir said. "You will never in any form implicate House Evnissien in the destruction of your family and your house. House Evnissien is your new home, Tarren the commoner. You are no noble, of no family worth remembering."

"I am a daughter of…" Tarren began, a surge of defiance rising up within her. Before she could so much as speak the name of her house, however, her throat tightened, quickly cutting off her air. Gasping and wheezing for breath, Tarren kicked against her bindings, falling onto her side as she tried desperately to breathe.

As suddenly as it began, the horrible strangulation ended. Tarren gulped in a lungful of air as she was once again lifted to a kneeling position in front of her new matron.

"It is difficult, at best, to break the _geas_," Saffir explained. "Now you understand the consequences of your foolishness."

Tarren nodded fearfully.

"Good," Matron Saffir said. "That will keep you from ever betraying your new house. But to regain your grace as a priestess of Lolth, you must learn… humility."

"Humility?" Tarren echoed quietly.

"Yes," Matron Saffir answered. She gestured to Tarren's left. The fallen noble looked over her shoulder to see Neifion, the traitor, the disgusting male who had captured her with underhanded arcane tricks and deceit. "You are to be his."

"No!" Tarren retorted, struggling to stand. Arwydd's whip bit into her back once more, knocking her onto her face and exposing her rear and legs to another painful strike of the cruel weapon. Twitching madly from the poison, Tarren found herself being forced to kneel once more by Neifion's own hands.

"I promise to make your time as enjoyable as possible," the traitor whispered into her ear, letting his hands slide down her side to her hips. Tarren tried to pull away from his touch, only to receive one more lash from the priestess behind her.

"You will bear a daughter for this house," Matron Saffir explained. "Neifion's daughter. And once you do that, you will be restored to Lolth's graces."

Tarren opened her mouth to protest, but Matron Saffir's warning gaze quieted her before she could speak. Tarren's head dropped in defeat, her humiliation completed.

"Neifion, she is yours," Matron Saffir said, turning from the fallen noble. "You may do with her as you like, in return for your invaluable services against House Hen Wyneb."

"You are indeed gracious, mistress," Neifion said with a bow. "Ever am I loyal to you, and to you alone."

* * *

"Perhaps we should kill her, and eliminate all traces of Hen Wyneb."

"Our casualties against Hen Wyneb were far more than we would have liked," Matron Saffir said, turning away from the courtyard. "That whelp, however useless you may think she is, is still a priestess of Lolth."

"Not until she bears a daughter to that… male," Talaith commented, following her mother into the matron's private chambers. "If she ever manages to break the _geas_, she can destroy our house with a simple accusation."

"House Hen Wyneb is dead and gone," Matron Saffir pointed out, motioning for her daughter to join her at a small table that held a crystal decanter of wine. "Within weeks all traces of them will be obliterated, and accusations will be pointless. What we must do is look ahead, and be thankful that once she bears a daughter, for our house and not that mercenary, that we will have another priestess, one who has already completed most of her studies at Arlais-Corryn. And by the time that lecherous Neifion is done with her, her hatred and vengeance will turn squarely to him and away from us. And with her to feed his perverted desires, he will remain loyal to us."

"I don't like either one," Talaith remarked.

"But we need them both," Matron Saffir observed. Talaith paused for a long moment, but finally nodded in agreement.

"So a new priestess, and a new wizard," Talaith said, mulling over the gains her house had made. "And forty new soldiers."

"Not as many as I would have hoped," Matron Saffir admitted. "Hen Wyneb's commoners were far more loyal than I would have expected."

"House Siryddion could have left more soldiers than they did," Talaith said. "They will need us if they ever move against Caer Llion. And twenty-five soldiers and a cask of gold for Pryderi…"

"We can buy more soldiers," Saffir said. "A wizard as powerful as Pryderi is not easy to find. And do not fear, Talaith. I have already made inquiries regarding our new wizard. His potential is seemingly unlimited. For once, your impulsive younger sister has made a good choice as to her consort."

"We still need soldiers," Talaith remarked. "We cannot maintain the farms and rothe herds we acquired from Hen Wyneb without troops to guard our new holdings."

"We are not farmers, dear Talaith," Matron Saffir explained. "You must learn that we cannot ever control everything. There are lower houses, houses with gold and gems to offer, and soldiers that have already been trained, that need the income that these holdings offer. Why, Hen Wyneb's own ally, Lleision, has already offered a fair sum, as well as a half dozen soldiers and a young commoner priestess, for some of our new lichen farms."

"Lleision," Talaith muttered. "Their soldiers are barely worth the weapons they carry."

"But they are still soldiers," Saffir countered. "And they are soldiers that fight for us, rather than against our allies in House Gwalchgwynn."

"We will still need Lolth to favor us if we are to survive Maredudd and Lainbhui," she said. Saffir smiled faintly.

"She will," the matron began, "but it will depend upon you."

"What do you mean?" Talaith asked.

"I have had a dream," Matron Saffir explained. "A vision, sent by the Spider Queen herself. She has shown me what we must do to gain her favor, to rise above the other houses of Llyr in Her eyes."

"What must we do?" Talaith asked, growing faintly eager. Saffir smiled.

"What must _you_ do," the matron clarified. "It will be _your_ quest, Talaith."

"I will do what I must for the glory of our house," Talaith offered. "What must I do?"

Matron Saffir's smile widened ever so faintly.

"You have never seen the surface, daughter," she said. "But very soon, you will."


End file.
